


Part One: Vivec

by phantomhive3108



Series: Three Gods And A Sorceress [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Angst, Ashlander Tribes, Blades, Dunmer - Freeform, F/M, Fully feelings, Great Houses, Hortator, House Telvaani, Mages Guild, Mild Smut, Moon & Star, Morrowind, Necromancy, Politics, Tribunal - Freeform, Vampires, Vvardenfell, Werewolves, nerevarine - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 43,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomhive3108/pseuds/phantomhive3108
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disgraced and banished from the Arcane University, Syl'Rhana Dareleth is dragged half way across the continent to investigate the prophecy of a legend reborn. Desperate and clinging to the slightest hope for a normal life she closes her eyes to the madness before her but no mortal has the power to change the course of destiny. Not with all the willpower in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Banished

**Author's Note:**

> This piece has been in writing for almost ten years now and is ever a work in progress. There may be inconsistencies caused by a number of rewrites and as a reader you might very well have questions which I'm more than happy to answer.
> 
> You'll find I stick as close to lore as possible but you'll also see heavy influences of my personal headcanons, so I I can't ask you enough to be open minded. It is the first of a three part series, so it should keep going for a while although I can't guarantee how regular the updates will be. If you appreciate this or any of my other pieces, please let me know- you're much more likely to see an update if you do!
> 
> Also, as a side note for people who might be reading some of my more recent work... My writing has thankfully evolved and matured since writing this but I'm posting it because even if it is a little rough around the edges, it's what got me into writing and I'm still proud of it in many ways.

“You can’t make people disappear, Raminus!” 

“Guards! Take her away.”

“You won’t get away with this!” She hissed.

“Oh I’m afraid I already have, my dear.” His lips twisted into a sly smile.

“Get off me! No!” She struggled against the three guards that surrounded her. “Don’t touch me!”

“Be careful with her, she’s a volatile one.”

“You’ll regret this, Raminus! I swear I’ll make you pay!” She shrieked over the guard’s shoulder.

He watched as they hauled her out of the University, having finally overpowered her with a paralysis spell. Her fiery red eyes glared back at him through the darkness, burning a fear into his heart that would haunt him forever.

***

Syl awoke in a sweat, feeling disorientated and confused. She raised her hand to her sore head and located a small bump beneath her matted black hair. She tried to piece together what she could remember, but had no memories subsequent to being thrown into a cell in the Imperial City Prison. The only plausible conclusion was that she had hit her head on the cold flagstones and had lost consciousness. But something was not quite right.

She could hear the sound flowing water... Feel the clammy air pressing down on her... Feel the rough grain of wood beneath her...

The fogginess cleared and she propped herself up to better see her surroundings. She was certainly no longer in the Imperial City Prison; as far as she could see, she was in the bow of a ship. The sound of the sea became clearer and more apparent and the heavy air made it seem suddenly too hard to breathe. Only one question came to mind: Where the hell were they taking her?

She wasn’t given much time to think about it because a commotion suddenly struck up on deck. There was a great deal of shouting and calling of unintelligible commands as they ran around above her cell. The wooden floorboards creaked under the pressure and weight of the prison guards’ boots to the point where Syl thought they would fall through the ceiling. With an abrupt jerk the ship hit the docks and Syl listened as the crew jumped onto the quays to secure the ropes.

A few minutes later, once the commotion had died down, one of the prison guards made his way below deck to her cell. He unlocked it and signalled for her to get up. She simply sat there- dazed- glaring up at him from behind the black curtain of hair which hung limp across her youthful face.

“Come on! We haven’t got all day.” he grunted.

“Where am I?” she asked, refusing to move an inch.

He reached down and grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her out the cell. “Move now. Questions later.”

He shoved her forward, letting her stumble on her weakened legs. She caught herself on the steps in time to stop herself slamming her head into the wood. She groaned as she tried to summon enough strength hold herself up again, but she couldn’t find it. The guard, becoming impatient, hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her up onto his shoulder and climbed the stairs with ease. He dumped her on a crate on deck and walked off, his job done.

Syl threw her arm across her face to shield her eyes from the beaming sun- the first true light she had been exposed to since her arrest. After a few brief moments she forced herself to look around, slowly adjusting to the intensity of the daylight. She was greeted with the sight of a pitiable little swamp town, furnished with small stone houses and mildly grander Imperial buildings. The stench and the sweltering heat were swiftly pushed out of her mind as the realisation of her whereabouts hit her.

“Hey, you! Come on. They’re waiting for you.”

Syl turned her head to see a Redguard striding over to her. He gave her a shove in the back to get her off the crate and walking towards the gangplank. She stopped before the walkway and looked down at the quay where another Imperial guard waited patiently for her. But she couldn’t think straight. It didn’t make sense: She couldn’t really be where she thought she was... 

Prompted by another nudge, she made her way off the ship towards the awaiting guard.

“Good day, sera. Welcome to Morrowind. Would you care to follow me to the Census Office?”

Morrowind? No. It couldn’t be. There was no way she could have been taken all the way to Vvardenfell. So far away from the Imperial City... and from the Arcane University...

Under her breath she muttered her words of defeat, “I underestimated you, Raminus...”


	2. Assumptions and Stereotypes

“I must say I wasn’t expecting you to be a Dark Elf...” The guard informed her casually as he led her down the quays.

Her mind still churning over the idea of being in Vvardenfell, she asked with half-interest, “What were you expecting, then?”

Obviously reading too far into her tone the guard hastily replied, “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you, sera. I simply meant that when they instructed me to welcome an ‘outlander’ I didn’t expect you to be of native origin.”

Syl was suddenly even more confused; since when did they start “welcoming” prisoners? His whole manner of address was such a contrast to the treatment she had recently been entitled to, it was off putting.

She hid her puzzlement by addressing the guard’s improper assumption. “If I were native, would you not the question the manner of my return to my home?” she said, indicating with a wave the prison ship behind them.

He shrugged. “Sadly, deportation is a fairly common sight nowadays. Morrowind is to be quarantined, after all. I do believe that transport here is to be severely restricted in the months to come- if not, barred completely.” They reached the door of the Imperial building. “Here you are sera. The Census and Excise Office. They’re expecting you.” He offered a smile.

Syl managed to force a small smile in return but was otherwise completely distracted. It was all so much to take in: Morrowind. Deportation. Quarantine. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but he was not the one who would know the answers, let alone give her the time to ask. He was after all but a simple guard sent to escort her the short distance from the ship to the stone building. He held the heavy wood and iron door open for her and waited for her to enter before closing it behind her.

The office was panelled from the floor to the ceiling with rich mahogany wood and furnished with tall bookshelves laden with books and lavish gold and silverware pieces. A guard stood to attention across the room next to another heavy wood door. Sitting at a large and overbearing desk in the centre of the room was a Breton in heavy robes who failed to acknowledge Syl’s appearance in the Office doorway. After a few moments, he looked up from his papers long enough to signal to her to take a seat in one of the large chairs arranged in front of the desk. As she approached him she was relieved to see that she was not the only one who was feeling the heat: the Breton was sweating profusely in his unnecessary and extravagant robes.

The stench of his body odour was unbearable and Syl considered remaining standing, but her legs were still too weak to hold her up for very long. Finally she conceded and collapsed in the left hand chair and waited for the Breton as he continued to scribble manically on a parchment already crammed with fine and tidy writing. When he was finished, he pushed the parchment aside to make space for a fresh new scroll and at last raised his eyes to meet Syl’s.

“You’ve finally arrived. We were expecting you over two hours ago. Never mind though. How was your trip here?”

“Can’t say I remember much of it.” She answered pointedly.

“Ah... Yes. Anyway, my name is Socucius Ergalla and I’ll be processing your release papers. Now, I’ve got a lot of administrative work to take care of, so if you don’t mind getting straight down to it-”

“Wait... Release papers? I thought I was being transferred to another prison...”

Ergalla frowned at her, having obviously expected her to know about this. “Were you not aware you were being released here? I thought someone would have mentioned it on the trip over...”

Syl started to get frustrated. “Well, let’s just say I wasn’t really in a state to be told anything. The last thing I remember since my arrest is being thrown into a cell in the Imperial City Prison. Next thing I wake up on a boat and am suddenly being welcomed to Morrowind. Please, tell me what’s going on here.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realise.” He seemed a little flustered. “All I’m aware of is that you are to be released here and I am to prepare your paperwork. As soon as we’re done you’ll be a free woman. I’m afraid I know nothing else... Perhaps the Captain, Sellus Gravius, will be able to help you. You’ll need to have him sign your papers anyway, so you’ll get a chance to speak to him later.”

She resigned herself to the idea that she would have to be patient with a sigh.

“Very well, let’s begin.” He turned his attention back to the scroll and prepared to write. “Full name?”

“Syl’Rahna Dareleth.”

“Dareleth? I suppose that means you are originally from Vvardenfell?” He asked without tearing his eyes away from the scroll.

“My father was. My mother belonged to the Witches’ Coven of Whiterun, where I was brought up.”

To this he raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “How interesting. I suppose that would explain the tattoos you bear...?” 

He was indicating the Nordic tattoos which marked her ashen blue skin: The dark blue ink ran in symmetrical swirls around her eyes and down her cheeks, accentuating the slender contours of her face. Syl was aware that in Skyrim they symbolised her heritage and status, but in the homeland of the Dark Elves, they would only serve to make her stand out as an ‘outlander’. She acknowledged his observation with a nod of the head and waited for him to continue.

“Very well. Now, what was your profession prior to your arrest?”

She flinched as the memories of that night came back to life in her mind. “I was a sorceress at the Arcane University.”

“Impressive.” He said, yet once again failing to look up at her and express sincerity. “Now do you happen to know the sign under which you were born? You see, not many people do...”

“I am not one of them. I was born under the sign of The Atronach.” She was beginning to get tired of the presumptions being made- her patience was wearing thin.

She sat in silence while Ergalla continued to scrawl away furiously with complete focus. Her eyes began to wonder around the room, across the vast array ornamental plates, carafes and chalices. To her it was a typical display of Imperial wealth, which was a common sight in the capital, but she was surprised to find it flaunted here in Morrowind where the natives were renowned for their loathing of the Imperials.

“Here we go. Take these to the Captain in the other building to have them signed.” He handed over the scroll to her and set right back to work on the parchment he had earlier set aside.

Syl hesitated for a moment after taking the scroll, expecting something more, but he remained silent and concentrated. Finally she stood from the chair, using the desk for support and headed for the door across the room. The guard, who up to this point had stood immobile, reached across and opened the door for her.


	3. Why Am I Here?

“Head down the corridor and through the dining room to your right. The Captain’s office is across the courtyard outside.” He recited mechanically.

Syl paid little attention to him, focusing all her energy on walking straight. She had clearly been deprived of food for the length of her journey, so in addition to being considerably thinner than she was before her incarceration, she was starved and weakened. She walked down the corridor and turned right into the small dining room where a table was set for one. Her stomach growled at the sight of the food laid out in front her. Without thinking, stole a slice of the cut loaf of bread and a bite of the crab meat sitting on the polished silver plate. She wiped her fingers on the coarse prison pants she was wearing- she tried not to think of how she actually got into them having been unconscious all this time- and went to leave the room.

However, as she turned towards the door leading to the afore mentioned courtyard, something caught her eye on the dining table. It was a plain iron dagger which had been stuck vertically into the grain of the wood, effectively pinning a small scroll to the bench. After checking she still wasn’t being watched, she deftly pulled the blade out of the wood and slipped it under her shapeless linen shirt and tucked it into the waistband of her trousers. Out of curiosity, she also glanced briefly at the note and identified it as simple banter between the Imperial guards of the garrison.

Seeing nothing else of interest, she made her way out into the small -and apparently useless- walled courtyard and stopped for a moment to lean against the building. The stifling heat did nothing to help her energy levels and she felt instantly drained of all her remaining strength. Her head started to spin and the sounds of the small town floating in above the walls started to fade as she began to slip away back into unconsciousness...

“Sera Dareleth?”

Her eyes snapped back open and as the fogginess dissipated she noticed a man standing in the doorway of the building opposite. The Imperial came forward to help her up and led her inside, away from direct sunlight. He let her limp frame slide into a chair similar to the one she had sat in only a few minutes ago in Ergalla’s office. As a matter of fact, the office itself was fairly similar, apart from the fact that the desk was free from any administrative paperwork, being only occupied by what appeared to be a leisurely book. The feeling began to return to her muscles and she used her arms to lever herself up to an upright position in the chair.

“Are you feeling alright? Here, have some water. It is quite hot today.” He said as he handed her a silver cup.

She took the cup with both hands and drank the entire contents of it in three gulps. She thanked him and put the cup down in front of her. Upon refilling her cup, the man walked around the desk and seated himself opposite her, his back to the open window where he could enjoy the near to non-existent breeze that occasionally streamed through.

“You gave me quite a fright there. I just happened to glance out into the courtyard just in time to see you sink to the floor. I mean I’m used to seeing prisoners come through here looking a little worse for wear, but you look like you’ve been on quite a rough ride.”

Syl brushed the shorter strands of hair out of her face and ran her hand to the back of her head where it was still sore. She nodded in agreement and offered a smile. It was then she noticed the impressive gold armour the man was wearing.

“I suppose you must be the Captain?”

“Yes, I am. Apologies, I haven’t introduced myself properly have I? Sellus Gravius, at your service.” He half stood to reach across the table and extended a hand.

She shook his hand without making any other effort to move- she couldn’t be bothered with manners at this point in time. He sat back down and waited as she downed the refilled cup of water. When she was finished, he waved a familiar looking scroll about.

“I’m assuming these are the papers Socucius gave you?”

Syl suddenly realised her hands were no longer clutching the scroll. “Oh god! Yes, thank you.”

“It’s fine. You dropped them out in the courtyard.” He said as he unrolled the paper on the desk.

Syl sat there patiently while he supposedly checked everything was in order, though she had a feeling he was simply pretending to read all the information to make an impression. After a few moments, he took a quill and dipped it in the open ink pot and proceeded to place his signature at the end of the document. He rolled it back up and leaned over to put it on a shelf with other scrolls alike.

“Now that we’ve taken care of that, there are other matters to attend to-”

Syl held up her hand to interrupt him. Gravius stopped mid-sentence while she massaged her temples with her middle and forefingers. Several moments passed before she spoke.

“Why am I here?”

“Do you mean Morrowind?” Gravius asked, a little irritated at her obvious lack of respect for his authority.

“Yes. I’ve been unconscious since my arrest in the Imperial City. I wake up here, and no one has a clue why I’m here... I need answers.”

Gravius shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I have no more idea than you do... although, you may be interested to know your release was ordered by the Emperor himself...”

Syl’s frown deepened, “The Emperor?!”

“Yes. As far as I’ve been told, you were of some interest to him.”

“Then why send me here? I lived in his city!” She laughed at the absurdity of the situation. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Perhaps this will help.” Gravius stood and walked over to a table in the far right corner of the room and came back to the desk holding a small satchel. “This disbursal was left in your name.”

Syl stared at the bag. “What it is?”

“I believe it contains instructions. Instructions which you are to follow to the letter. Is that clear?” He slid it across the table to her and sat back down.

She pulled the satchel off the table and heard the distinctive jingle of gold as it fell into her lap. She looked up at the Imperial and raised her eyebrows.


	4. Living Under A Rock

Syl sat in the corner of Arrille’s Trading House, absently watching the locals come up the stairs into the bar. Her eyes followed the movements of each and every patron, subconsciously taking in their habits and personalities. One by one, she weighed them up, and measured their strengths and weaknesses, as she always did. 

But her mind was not conscious of her analysis: it was reeling from everything which had happened in these past few hours. She had been sat there for hours, nestled in a far corner of the bar at a table. She had eaten her fill and slowly drank her way through three jugs of water. All this time her mind had been too preoccupied to notice the staleness of the bread, and the unpleasant after taste left by the water, yet even now she felt unsatisfied with her considerations.

Syl began to sink back down to earth, slowly becoming aware of the curious glances being thrown her way as well as the continuing tense muttering that filled the room. As she became aware of the interest she was to all these people, she looked away, busying herself with tracing the grain of the wood of the table with her finger. She pressed her lips into a thin line as the whispers continued. She wished them to be quiet as she felt her patience wearing thin. She had no intention of starting a fight in such an unfamiliar place, but neither would she tolerate spending the rest of the evening conscious of the talk about her. Before she could control her volatile anger, the barmaid approached her.

“Would you like another refill?” she asked politely.

Syl shook her head without bothering to raise her eyes. She did not need to look to know that the barmaid was a tall Redguard who looked like someone who could take care of herself. The woman usually stayed behind the bar within reach of the sheathed long sword that was left in plain sight on a table behind the bar; obviously a deterrent to any trouble makers. Syl expected her to return promptly to her post to leave her in peace to further contemplate her situation. But the woman was seemed intent on asking questions concerning things other than refills.

When she spoke again, she lowered her voice. “You’ve caused quite a stir here, you know.”

Syl looked up, the lack of curiosity painfully plain on her face. Elone- as she was addressed by the locals- ignored this and continued.

“We get a lot of people coming through here, but there’s something about you that’s... unsettling, if you don’t mind me saying.”

This brought a smile of amusement to Syl’s face, softening it and making her appear more relaxed.

“May I?” Elone asked indicating the seat across the small round table at which Syl had been sat for hours.

“Be my guest.” Syl replied with a small wave of the hand in the direction of the chair.

Elone placed the full jug of water on the table and took a seat.

“I thought I might come over here and talk to you to make them relax.” She said casually. “My name’s Elone. I’m the local scout. If you need to know anything, I’d be glad to help.”

When Syl simply smiled and remained silent, Elone chose to continue.

“So are you planning on heading on out to anywhere in particular?”

“Balmora.” Syl answered curtly. She wasn’t in a mood to chat.

“Do you know anyone there, or just sightseeing?” Elone pressed.

Syl let out a long breath and began to wonder where this was going. “There’s someone there I’m supposed to meet. Look, is there anything you need?”

“Nothing in particular. I was just curious. As are the rest of these people.”

Syl suddenly noticed most of the other conversations had stopped and everyone was conspicuously leaning in their direction, straining to hear the conversation. She smiled again.

“I’m sorry if my questions bother you, I just like to make sure that any new comers don’t bother the other patrons.”

“Fair enough.”

Elone seemed satisfied enough and moved on to another subject.

“We haven’t seen a prisoner dropped off her in a while, you know. All because of the quarantine... I expect you’ll probably be one of the last as well.”

Syl seized the opportunity to answer some of her less pressing questions. “I heard. But why the quarantine?”

“Have you been living under a rock, outlander?” Elone exclaimed.

Syl’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You could say that...”

“Well, let me be the one to catch you up.” Elone leaned forward and settled in her seat for a lesson in current affairs. “You know that Vvardenfell is a volcanic island, right? With the Red Mountain in the middle? Yes? Well, most of Morrowind’s history is centred around it, but you’d have to find someone else to tell you the details. Basically, all you need to know is that for years, the island’s been threatened by a disease that seems to inexplicably originate from the crater of the Red Mountain. They’ve tried to set up “divine defences”- not that I’m sure I believe any of that Tribunal hocus- but it seemed to keep the problem fairly contained. But now that cases of Blight keep on appearing further and further from where it’s supposed to be contained, people are getting worried. And now, the Empire can’t afford to risk letting something like this spread to the mainland. So they’ve cut us off, until someone can figure out a way to fix it.”

Syl listened intently, filling in the gaps in her knowledge little by little. Even back in the Imperial City she paid little attention to current events, finding more contentment in hiding herself away in the quiet halls of the Arcane University. The memory brought a stinging sensation to her eyes. She never had become particularly attached to anyone or anything, so the feeling wasn’t familiar and was unwelcome.

“What do you mean by “divine defences”?” Syl asked on an afterthought.

“It’s a wall with magical properties put up there by the Tribunal.”

The Tribunal. She knew of them quite well. As far as Syl was aware, they were a trio of self-made Gods who pushed aside the ancient Dunmer traditions for their own religion. Syl had always been intrigued about how they had obtained their divinity, but not much could be found which could be considered credible. Most of what was written about them in books was either conjecture or outright fiction.

Syl was suddenly drawn back from her reverie as she caught sight of movement in the corner of her eye. Her head spun to the left but all she saw were the other patrons of the bar standing across the other side of the room. Instinctively, her hand darted to the rucksack, containing her instructions to go Balmora, which hung on the back of her chair. She started when instead of feeling the ruff material of the bag, her fingers touched the bare skin of another mer’s hand.


	5. The Thief

Syl’s hand closed around the thief’s wrist and she swung him round in front of her. His invisibility spell dissipated as she released her grip and he stumbled backwards down onto the ground. Elone leapt to her feet darting across the room to the counter and seized the handle of her sword. With much the same reaction, the other punters rose to their feet, hands hovering over the weapons they all seemed to carry at their hips.

The thief’s wide eyes darted around the room from Syl to the other customers in panic and shock. His face was young and covered in muck and his clothes were in no better condition than the prison wear Syl still wore beneath the heavy dark green cloak she had purchased downstairs. She watched the young Bosmer as he skittered fearfully away from her, backing himself into a corner. The boy was no threat and with everybody watching her Syl took a slow deliberate step in his direction. He closed his eyes and rolled himself into a tight ball trying ever so hard to make himself as small as possible. Growing impatient, Hrisskar- a heavy set Nord with a thick tangled mane of blonde hair- pushed past Syl and grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt.

“This one’s going to the captain.” He grunted, dragging the little Bosmer across the room towards the stairs.

By this time, the proprietor of the establishment, Arille, had come half way up the stairs to peer across the floor to see what was going on. Spotting the Nord carrying the elf, he rolled his eyes and tutted and headed back to the counter on the lower floor of the trade house.

“Do you know what the price is for being caught red-handed, eh little tree-hugger?”

The boy whimpered at the Nord’s taunt which only made the Hrisskar shake him harder.

“Hey!” Syl strode across the bar to the Nord’s side, scooping up her precious luggage from the back of her chair as she went. “Wait. The boy tried to steal from me. I’ll take him to the captain.”

Hrisskar Flat-Foot hesitated before raising an eyebrow at the Dunmer. She met his stare and after a few moments of tense silence, the Nord lowered the boy to the floor and shoved him in her direction. He stumbled forward and fell at her feet.

“As you wish. Not my problem.” He grumbled.

With that he turned away and wandered back over to the bar where he rejoined his mead. The atmosphere in the inn started to relax again as the rest of the small audience began to return to their beverages and resumed their conversations, which were undoubtedly still about her. 

Syl threw one last glance around the room, nodded to Elone and headed for the stairs.

“You,” She called to the boy who was still shaking on the floor. “Come on.”

He hurried to his feet, feeling the heat of Hrisskar’s burning stare on his back and scurried after Syl. They headed outside before she grabbed his arm and started dragging him along. He winced under the pain of her iron grip, but tried his best to stay on his feet as she hauled him away from the trade house. To his surprise though, instead of heading for the barracks, Syl pulled him in the direction of the siltstrider on the outskirts of town. Baffled, he said nothing until she continued to march along the road past the great insect creature and up towards the small mountain range, which separated the Bitter Coast from the more appealing Ascadian Isles.

“Where are you taking me?” He spoke in a small frail voice. “I thought you were handing me over to the captain.”

Syl stopped when they reached the top of the hill and turned to face the Bosmer. She let go of his arm and looked at him expectantly. He looked up at her with innocent eyes and a naive look on his face.

A wily smile appeared on Syl’s lips. “You can stop pretending now.”

His expression faltered for a second before being replaced by feigned shock. When she refused to buy it, he sighed and rolled his eyes. The boy’s posture changed to exude a cocky confidence and all naivety fled his face. He grinned up at Syl who finally looked satisfied.

“Better.” She said smiling.

“How did you know?”

“That invisibility spell, where did you learn it?” She deflected the question, her expression returning to its usual stern setting.

He shrugged and pouted his lips. “I used to work as a wizard’s assistant at the Mage’s Guild in Balmora. He taught me some stuff. Other stuff you just kinda pick up from being around that sort of place.”

Syl nodded. There were a couple of young helpers at the university. Mostly the magicians and conjurers just had them to run the errands they were too lazy to do. 

“So why are you here? Stealing.”

Again, the boy shrugged. “Why d’ya think? That old sod I worked for died, and no one else at the guild needed an assistant so I was left with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Besides, I thought that Altmers live for like… ever.”

Syl smiled. “They don’t live forever. They just live longer than the rest of us.”

“Same difference.” He huffed.

Syl examined the boy in this new light. He stood up straight in front of her, his arms crossed and frowning back at the port town. He looked like he had quite a lot of strength in him, but his body was thin and frail most likely due to a poor diet. She likened her own situation to his in many ways and smiled at the thought of it.

He turned his attention back to her. “So you gonna take me to the captain or not?”

In turn, Syl looked back at Seyda Neen as if in thought. “What’s your name?”

The Bosmer frowned at her. “Fimmion. But most people call me Fim.”

Syl focused on him again with an expectant look on her face. “Very well, Fim. Do you know how to get to Balmora from here?”

He hesitated before responding. “Sure. Half a day’s walk.”

“Good. You can take me there.” With that she strode off along the path through the small mountains.


	6. Useless Guide

Fimmion jogged after her, a little shocked at her proposition as well as being thrilled at the prospect of getting off scot-free after she had caught him trying snag her bag. By the time he caught up with her, a permanent grin had taken its place on his face.

“So what’s your name then? It’s only fair.”

“Syl’Rahna. But most people call me Syl.” She gave him a sideward glance as she quoted his own earlier introduction.

“So how come you’re not taking me to the captain?”

“I need to get to Balmora. You know how to get to Balmora. It’s pretty simple logic.”

“But I did try to steal from you.” He pointed out.

“I really doubt that it’s in your best interests to remind me of that.”

His grin faltered for a split second as he looked up at her severe expression, but she soon flashed him a reassuring smile. They walked in silence for a while, allowing Syl time to ponder her situation. She really had no idea what she was supposed to do now. She secretly prayed this man in Balmora would have some answers. It pained her to know she had no way of returning to Cyrodiil, to the safety of the life she knew. When she had arrived in the Imperial City as a young girl, she had taken refuge within the wall of the Arcane University, hiding from life by burying herself in books and drowning herself in her studies. It had helped her forget the pain and suffering she had escaped from.

She had managed to make a her name known within the Mage’s Guild through her successful studies, rising up within the ranks, all the while keeping people at a distance, associating with colleagues only on a professional basis. She felt safer that way; she knew would be in no great danger if someone found out her history- she even doubted anyone would care- but it was a precaution she felt more comfortable in taking.

“I heard someone say you were dropped off by the prison boat that arrived this morning.” Syl was pulled back to reality as her companion addressed her. “Is that why you’re wearing those clothes?” He asked curiously, pointing out the tattered clothes under her cloak.

“Hm? Oh yes.” She replied, still a little distracted.

“How come you were in prison?”

As she thought of an appropriate answer, Raminus’ face flashed forward in her mind, causing a flood of hot anger and rage to wash over her. Her muscles tensed and she could swear she could taste the bitterness of his betrayal on her tongue. Noticing, her long fingers curl into tight fists at her sides and the stern setting of her jaw, Fim quickly tried to change the subject. Obviously this was a delicate subject.

“So have you been to Morrowind before?”

His attempt to distract her, although simple in manner and lacking in tact, worked. She sighed as the rush of emotions dissipated, leaving a faint shiver coursing through her body like the remnants of a shock spell.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Ah right. I would’ve said it was strange ‘cos you’re a Dunmer and stuff, but I’m a Bosmer from Morrowind, so...” He seemed quite animated now, an avid curiosity making itself known. “So where are you from?”

“Skyrim. Whiterun.”

“Oh! So that’s the reason for the… um…” He pointed to his own face. “The tattoos, right? I always wondered why loads of Nords have those marking on their faces. Is it like a tribe thing? Like the Ashlanders?”

And so the trip continued, the constant ramblings and questions of the young Bosmer forming a continuous background hum as Syl took in her surroundings. This region of the island seemed so peaceful, with the wide array of plants and luscious green trees grew on either side of the path which wound around a large expanse of still water Fim had called Lake Rumare. Although the young boy’s voice could grow a little irritating, she was glad for the distraction and took pleasure in sating his inquisitiveness as she kept herself from remembering.

Eventually, Fim seemed to run out of questions and he fell silent, apparently pondering his own thoughts. They were reaching the Foyada Mamaea which led into the West Gash region where the town of Balmora resided. It had then occurred to him that not once had he given Syl directions or instructions or had even led the way. He even had always seemed to be one step behind her, occasionally having to break into a jog to catch up to her. Of course he was used to it, due to his height and short legs and years of having worked besides an Altmer, albeit an ageing Altmer.

“You know,” He said, a little out of breath. “For someone who’s never been to Morrowind, you seem to know your way around pretty well.”

Syl shrugged. “It’s just a matter of following the signposts.” She pointed to one ahead.

He frowned back, confused. “But I thought you said you needed a guide!”

She didn’t reply. They crossed down into the foyada and began striding up the opposite slope when Fim remembered something that made him panic. Just nestled on the other side of this rocky slope was an Imperial Legion Fort. Surely, she hadn’t dragged him all the way out here just to hand him over to proper authority. In all fairness, the punishment he would have got in Seyda Neen would have been nothing compared to the sentence he’d receive here.

Syl stopped and turned around to see what had frozen the young Bosmer in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not planning on handing me over to the Imperials, are you?” He spoke slowly, deliberating over every word. As he spoke he gently rocked back on his heels and prepared himself to make a run for it, should she admit it.

She stared at him for a few moments before he realised she was trying ever so hard to keep a straight face. Finally, a kind smile graced her lips and he relaxed.

“Look, the way I see it, you never actually stole from me. We could just say you’d been eavesdropping. Besides, what use would you be to me if you were locked up?”

She turned on her heel and continued on, knowing he would follow. Sure enough, after a few moments’ hesitation, Fimmion darted after her, his grin back in place.

“So what kind of use are we talking about here?”


	7. Late Night Visit

They reached Balmora late in the afternoon when the town was still teeming with activity. They stopped in what seemed to be the main square and Syl started looking around at the various buildings, seeing what shops and services the town boasted. Fim had explained that Balmora was ruled by the House Hlaalu and Syl was comforted by the fact that she understood what this meant. Although she was brought up in Skyrim, her father’s land, her mother made sure that Syl’Rahna was well-versed in her family’s ancestry and roots within the Great House Telvanni.

All in all, the town appeared to have more or less everything one needed. On this square, she could see traders and two guild halls, along with a bookseller and a couple of taverns around the corner.

Fim began explaining the layout of the town to her. “You see there is the Mage’s Guild and the Fighter’s Guild. And up there on the hill is the nicer part of town. And if you go down there and cross the river that’s the residential part of town. There’s also the Southwall Cornerclub but it’s full of thie-”

He stopped mid sentence as a woman walked by carrying a basket laden with loaves of bread and fruit. Syl heard the rumble in Fim’s stomach as he watched the food parade by, as if he were entranced.

“When was the last time you ate?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He looked up guiltily. “Yesterday…”

Syl rolled her eyes and headed for the nearest tavern which was called The Eight Plates. Ironically enough, Fim managed to put away eight plates of food as Syl watched on in awe having already gorged herself to her content. She was surprised at how such a small boy could put away so much. Eventually, his appetite was sated and he leaned back in his chair, that cheeky grin in place.

“I was wondering if you knew of a clothier of some kind around here. I was hoping of getting out of these ridiculous clothes before the end of the day.”

Fim answered without a moment’s thought. “Sure! Up on the hill. I’ll show you. Just… Just give me a moment, ok?” He cradled his belly.

Syl laughed. “That’s fine. I can find it by myself. Why don’t you get us a couple of rooms and I’ll meet you back here.”

She left him some money for the food and board and left him to digest. Once outside, she slowly made her way through town, up to the place Fim had pointed out to her earlier. She found the shop easily enough and was pleased when the door was open and found that the woman was still accepting customers. 

After brief introductions, Milie Hastien, a Breton woman, helped Syl pick out some plain black trousers and a white shirt to which she added a brown leather waistcoat and matching over the knee boots to complete the outfit. Syl slipped the green cloak over the ensemble, feeling more comfortable with its weight on her shoulders despite the heat which seemed characteristic to the island. It reminded her of the robes she was so used to wearing around the university and seemed almost comforted by the familiar feel of the fabric. It was of good quality and would most likely be useful for travel and cooler nights.

***

Syl stood outside the door to Cosades’ bed-sit, having followed the instructions she had been given from the proprietor of The Southwall Cornerclub. The tavern had had a strange air to it and the suspicious looks the patrons gave her left little to the imagination about the business being run here. She smiled to herself as she measured up the shady characters residing here, keeping herself prepared in case they decided that she was not welcome. With a couple of strong paralysis spells and well-aimed fireballs, it would not be hard to make an escape and Syl had no qualms with making a scene when threatened- a consequence of her short temper. She had only felt a significant magical strength originating from an Argonian sitting in the far corner of the bar watching her with restless yellow eyes which glowed under the shadow his hood. Eventually, someone had informed her that Cosades rented a small apartment up the road, perhaps in the hope that she would leave.

She hesitated now outside the door, her impatience to find out more about what was going on and a fear for what that knowledge might bring battling in her mind. Ultimately, impatience won out and she raised a pale blue hand to knock but held back when her ears caught the sounds of hushed voices inside. This time, there was no rival to her curiosity and she noiselessly approached to door, gently pressing her ear against the grain of the wood.

“… be the one to talk to.”

“For a price, no doubt.”

“Sure, but this is the kind of information we need and apparently he’s our guy.”

“You’ve worked for the Guild, do you think he’ll talk to you?”

“Antabolis? He’ll talk to anyone as long they are of use to him.”

Syl pulled back finding that she understood very little and cared even less about this conversation. Finally she rapped her knuckles on the door, cutting the conversation inside short. There was a drawn out silence as the people in the apartment obviously debated whether to answer the knock. Syl was beginning to grow irritated when she heard the sound of an iron bolt sliding out of place. The door slid open releasing a cloud of sickly sweet smoke into the outside air where Syl stood. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of the Skooma threatened to send her in a coughing fit. It was not exactly that she wasn’t partial to the drug- it was an unspoken favourite of the mages at the university in which they occasionally indulged in the evenings- it was simply the unpleasantness of being drowned in it unexpectedly.

It took a few moments for the smoke to clear and her cloaked figure to be identified by the man who stood peering from the doorway leading to a scantily lit room. The man was well built and Syl could see from his silhouette the definition of his muscles on his bare torso. As her eyes adjusted to the contrast of the night and the candlelight, she saw that the Imperial who stood before her was of a certain age, with greying hair and a face bearing the lines of long healthy years of life, though his eyes bore the familiar shadows of someone who had indulged a little too much in Skooma.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Syl’Rahna Dareleth. Are you Caius Cosades?” Syl retorted.

His eyes narrowed. “Yes. Why?”

Syl reached for the letter inside her cloak and handed it to him. He took it and stepped inside towards the candle to better read the characters which had been elegantly scribed on the parchment. He left the door open but Syl stayed outside her hand resting on the doorframe. As the Imperial read the letter repeatedly- each time the lines in his brow deepening- Syl sought out the other voice she had heard.

The apartment was small and furnished with the bare minimum; there was a bed to her left, neatly made up, with a chest sitting under a shelf laden with various objects and a small collection of iron weapons on a small wooden bench. Straight in front of her, however, were a dining table and chairs at which sat back a rather tall looking Dunmer, clad in Bonemold armour, iconic of the Great Houses as far as Syl recalled.

He watched her as she stood in the doorway, the glimmer of a faint smile appeared on his lips as she glared back. The planes of his face were smooth with prominent cheekbones and a strong set jaw, which Syl suspected most women would find attractive. She could not deny there was beauty in his face, but the way his lips betrayed a sense of amusement as he watched her was more than irritating. After a few moments, he turned his face to see what seemed to be keeping the Imperial so quiet, revealing a long scar down the left side of his face which the candlelight threw up as a faint blue line against his darker cobalt skin. Syl was becoming intrigued with the stranger when Cosades finally looked up from the letter and turned to eye her suspiciously.


	8. Open To Explanation

“So you arrived this morning?” he asked, his voice revealing more than just a little trepidation as he addressed her.

“Yes.”

There was a pause filled with a tense silence before he gestured for her to come in. She stepped inside and inhaled the sweet scent of Skooma which only increased in intensity inside the windowless room. She slid the door closed behind her keeping an eye on the Dunmer who had resumed watching her with apparent curiosity. Caius Cosades indicated for her to take the seat across from the Dunmer as he sat himself on the bed, still clutching the letter she’d handed to him.

“I’m guessing you don’t know why you’re here, am I right?” He finally said with a sigh.

Syl shook her head and turned to face him. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, this letter you’ve handed me says I should make you a Blade. Do you understand what that means?”

“That you’ve been smoking too much Skooma?” She replied with a look of disbelief. She heard the other Dunmer chuckle behind her.

She’d heard rumours of the Emperor controlling a secret network of spies, but no one had ever heard of there being any physical proof of their existence. She had often heard them referred to as the Blades in conversations, but mostly they were spoken of as representative of the secrets and mysteries which were kept from the public by the Imperial government. Whether they existed or not had always seemed quite trivial to her.

The Imperial’s face went from apprehensive to severe. “Considering the latest happenings in your life I would expect you to be a little more open to the explanations I am offering you.”

Syl thought about this. It was true she had demanded answers, but to what extent could she accept these as reasons for her deportation and release? She’d have been more content knowing it had been Raminus Polus’ conniving plans which had brought her here.

“Very well. Say you are telling the truth, who does that make you?”

“The Grand Spymaster for the Blades working in Vvardenfell.”

Syl suppressed a laugh; the Imperials always had a flair for fancy titles. “And considering you speak so openly of something so secret in front of…” She turned to the Dunmer expectantly. “That would make you…?”

The Dunmer grinned at her. “I am but a lowly agent of the Blades. Gilyan Goren, at your service.” He bowed his head as he introduced himself. He spoke well, with a self-assurance Syl wasn’t sure was well-placed confidence or just arrogance.

“Gilyan here is one of my most trusted associates. And trust these days is expensive. You’d do well to remember that.”

Syl scoffed. “If you knew how I got here, you certainly would not be giving me such advice.” She saw the smile return to the Dunmer’s lips from the corner of her eye.

“If you say so.” He took a deep breath and stood from the bed. He paced across the room and stopped in front of the door. Syl rotated in her chair to face him as he began to address her again. “As you may understand, I am rather reluctant to induct you into the Blades. I don’t know you, you don’t know me, and most of all I have no idea what you’re capable of.” Syl’s lips turned up at the corner. “But the Emperor seems to think I should. So, if you’ll follow my orders, I am prepared to induct you as a Novice in the Blades.”

Syl’s eyebrows raised. She threw a glance in Goren’s direction to see if she could deduce whether this was a farce, but his face was an unreadable mask. She turned back to see Cosades patiently waiting for a response, his eyes still showing concern.

She hesitated again. “… Alright.” She replied slowly. “What kind of orders?”

Caius relaxed a little and it was only then that she noticed the Dunmer had been holding his breath. “The Blades are the Emperor’s eyes and ears. We investigate what his guards cannot. We protect him and his empire. You will help us do this.” He gave her a long look before turning back to pace the room again. “I’ll need you to start off by getting some information for me. The man you will get it from will most likely want something in return. You’ll find him in the Fighter’s Guild. His name is Hasphat Antabolis.” Syl put all her strength into hiding that she already knew this part from her earlier eavesdropping. “Goren, I want you to go with her.” The Dunmer nodded.

“I really don’t think that’ll be necessary.” The two men turned to look at her in surprise. “I really would be more comfortable by myself. I can handle myself perfectly well.”

“That may be, but I’d rather be sure that I’m not sending you to your death.” Caius pointed out. He moved across the room to the chest where he fished out a pouch which he tossed over to her. It landed in her hands with a jangle. “Use it to get yourself some proper gear.”

Syl stood and held the pouch out to him. “I don’t need the gear. And you should do well not underestimate me.”

He shook his head. “Keep it. Do what you will with it. But I don’t want Goren to have to drag your corpse back into town.”

“Then tell him it to leave it where it is.” She walked over to the door. Once again she heard Gilyan laugh from his corner and this time, even Caius couldn’t keep a straight face either.

“I like you. You’ve got nerve. And maybe you’re right and that cockiness is well placed, but you’ll still need Goren to go with you. He’s been working this assignment for a while. You’ll need him to catch you up.”

Syl turned back to face them. “Alright then.”


	9. Feels Like Home

Fimmion entered the room with a distinct bounce in his step and made his way across the bar to Syl‘s table. She looked up from the book in her hands and smiled as he strutted over to her in the clothes she had bought for him and left inside his door when she had return late last night.

“Thanks for these!” He stroked at the soft fabric of the shirt.

“Glad they fit.” Syl smiled as he continued to pick at the clothes, examining the fine quality of them.

“What’s that you’re reading?” Fim nodded towards the book in her hands and took seat across from her.

“I walked out to the bookstore while you were still asleep.” She closed the book and placed it down on the table. She slid it across to him. “Can you read?”

He picked it up and casually flicked through the pages. He shrugged, “A little. Master Eddriel taught me a bit in his free time… which was not very often.”

“Eddriel? The Altmer you worked for?”

“Yeah. Always was busy. Always obsessed with his next discovery.”

“What kind of discoveries?”

“Alchemical mostly. He’d mastered the discipline of illusion years ago, so he was pretty much dedicated to his study of potions and stuff when I worked for him.”

Syl nodded. “Speaking of which, I was rather hoping you’d accompany me to the Mage’s Guild this morning.”

“You gonna join?”

Syl smiled. “I was thinking of it.”

“You know it’s all politics in there though. Especially since that new steward took over. She’s the one that got rid of me when my master died.” His face twisted with contempt as he recalled.

“I know the type.”

***  
Ranis Athrys looked up from her parchments as they approached her desk.

“What are you doing here?” She snapped at the little Bosmer.

He opened his mouth to protest but Syl quietened him with a sharp slap to the back of the head.

“Fimmion here was just showing me around.” Syl’s face was had assumed its usual stern mask.

Ranis raised an eyebrow. Her face was thin and gaunt, giving her the shrewd appearance of someone who harboured no love for the world around her. “And you might be…?”

“Conjurer Syl’Rahna Dareleth from the Arcane University. I recently… moved to the island and was hoping to continue my research here.” She extended a hand towards the Dunmer woman.

Athrys regarded her with appraising eyes. Eventually, she reached up and shook Syl’s hand. “Welcome, we can always use talented mages around here. Your chosen discipline?”

“Destruction. But Conjuration and Illusion are my secondary subjects. My ultimate interest is in sorcery.”

Ranis raised her eyebrows. “We haven’t had a skilled sorcerer here a while. You could come in very handy... Assuming you are skilled at what you do.”

Fimmion watched the exchange in awe as Syl managed in but a few moments to win Ranis Athrys’ approval. Finally, the guild steward turned her harsh stare onto him and he felt his muscles tense.

“What about this one?” She nodded to the Bosmer.

“I could use an assistant. And he seems to know his way around the place.”

“As you wish.” Ranis turned her attention back to her work. “Come see me when you’re ready to take on some guild duties.”

Syl and Fim stood at her desk for a few moments before understanding that was their cue to leave her alone. They headed up to the ground floor of the guild hall and Syl relished in the relief that she had been accepted without any question. Had Athrys questioned her move to the island, Syl would have felt compelled to admit her title of Conjurer had been rescinded subsequent to her arrest. But her claim had gone unquestioned and she was quietly celebrating the comfort her acceptance was bringing; no matter how she looked at it, the Mage’s Guild felt like home.

“So I’m your new assistant?” Fimmion asked, bounding after her.

“No.” His face dropped at the sound of her pertinent denial, but she was smiling. “You’ll be my apprentice.”


	10. Burnt

After having Fimmion out on a few errands, Syl headed back to The Eight Plates. The sun had been high in the sky for some time now, so she suspected she was late to meet him but otherwise felt no guilt. She entered the tavern and spied the Dunmer in his hardy armour sitting at a table across the room. His eyes were focused on a familiar letter in his hands, which had caused its last reader much concern. Syl’s mind immediately demanded to know what had been on that letter she had been instructed not to read and to pass on. After her departure last night, Caius must have shown Goren the letter for reasons she was convinced would be revealed if she knew its content.

She walked over and sat down at the table, deliberately failing to announce herself. His eyes snapped up from the parchment at the sound of her arrival and his signature smile appeared. He began to fold away the paper but Syl reached out towards it, her long blue fingers motioning for him to hand it over.

“I want to see what’s in that letter.”

He met her intense glare with another winning smile and shook his head apologetically. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I have a right to know what it says.”

“What gives you that impression, sera?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is the fact that it’s about me not enough? Cosades felt it important enough to show you, now give me a reason why I shouldn’t see it.”

Gilyan hesitated but eventually held out the letter to her open hand. “I can think of none.”

She took it from him with little grace, impatient to know once and for all why she was released by orders of the Emperor. The spymaster had only gone a small way to accounting for her deportation and there were still too many things which didn’t add up. She unfolded the letter and eagerly took in what it read. Following a few moments of silence in which Gilyan watched her closely, she looked up to him in shock.

“It’s coded?!”

Gilyan feigned a look of innocence in response. “Yes?”

“Well what does it say?!” She was irritated now and could the anger pulsing through her arms to her fingertips.

“You mean you don’t understand it?!” He mimicked her astonished tone. Syl felt the parchment begin to warm in her fingers as she continued to stare down the Dunmer. Eventually, Gilyan gave up the comedy act and addressed her seriously. “Look, you don’t need to know what it says. It’s not relevant at the moment. But I promise to tell you when it is, if you want.”

The paper caught fire and Gilyan jumped back in surprise. He watched as Syl sat unmoving, apparently unharmed by the flames which engulfed her slender blue hands. He settled as the fire simmered out and the ashes fell through her fingers onto the charred table underneath. Syl calmly brushed the charcoal off her hands before she spoke again.

“Excuse me.”

Gilyan frowned and hesitated. “That’s alright…”

“Anyway. We should be getting to the Fighter’s Guild.” She could not keep the tremble from her voice and hearing the weakness behind her own words, she stood up and walked away from him.

Gilyan had heard of mages unintentionally projecting their magic as a result of strong emotions, but what concerned him more was her welfare. Caius had entrusted her safety to him and she went around catching on fire every day, his job would become a lot harder. If what had been on that letter was true, Syl was of great importance to the Blades and he would have to do everything in his power to keep her alive. He had argued with the spymaster all night about sending her out in the first place, but Caius seemed to believe she would be better out there learning her lessons first hand.

She got up to and he started after her catching her by the wrist. “Syl, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can talk to Caius if you want.”

Syl stared at him with fire in her eyes. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through these past few days and you don’t know how it feels to have no clue as to why this is happening!” Her voice was still weakened with emotion, so she took a deep breath to readjust herself. “Look, doing whatever Cosades needs me to do is the only way I can think of to get the answers I need. If you insist on supervising me, then fine, but don’t go implying I can’t handle this… Please. I don’t need that.” Syl then realised he was still holding onto her and she suddenly felt very uneasy. As her eyes dropped to his hand he realised what he was doing and quickly dropped her wrist.

He nodded. “Alright, I apologise. But trust me when I say this: Morrrowind is nothing like the mainland. There’s something waiting to get its claws into you around every corner. Mer and creature alike.”

Syl grinned up at him. “Then you’ll just have to be extra careful. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”


	11. Astute

They found Antabolis in the basement training room, supervising exercises. When he saw them enter, he walked over to greet them.

“Goren! I haven’t seen you around the guild for a couple of weeks. Eydis got you on another bitch of a contract?”

Gilyan grinned at the Imperial. “If you can call cutting up a couple of rats a contract.”

Syl watched the exchange of banter for a few minutes before she became bored and impatient and let out a long sigh. She looked up to see her sigh hadn’t gone unnoticed and the two men were now focused on her.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so rude. Who is this lovely lady at your side, Goren, and why oh why haven’t you introduced us before.” Hasphat bowed forward before and reached for her hand to place a kiss on it.

Syl felt her face twist in protest and had to send all her energy into not snatching her hand back from his callous grasp. Gilyan watched with amusement and when she turned to him he met her glare with a wink. By the time the Imperial had straightened up, he had missed her show of revulsion and she was back to her polite yet stern profile.

“This, my friend, is a recent arrival to the island. Syl’Rahna Dareleth. I’m currently showing her around.”

Hasphat looked at him with a cheeky smile and Syl groaned at the implication it held. “Excuse me, but we’re actually here on some business. Caius Cosades sent us to get some information he believed was important to us.”

“Ah! You’re here on business. Why didn’t you say so? Yes, I promised Caius some information and he also promised me a favour.” He replied pointedly.

“And what would that favour be?” Syl softened her tone, not wanting to alienate this man too much- he appeared quite temperamental.

“Well, as you asked so politely!” He beamed at the two of them. “I need you to go to Arkngthang. Those are the ruins near Fort Moonmoth. Goren, can I count on you to show this lovely lady the way?” Gilyan nodded. “Very good. I want you to bring me back a little box which I’m sure is somewhere in there. It’s called a Dwemer Puzzle Box. Can you handle that?”

“What’s it for?” Syl questioned.

“What does it matter what it’s for, I want it.” He replied with laugh.

Gilyan laughed with him. “We’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure you will.” He glanced back over his shoulder at his trainees who were still engaged in combat. “Now if you don’t mind, I can see some poor footwork and weak defence.”

Antabolis rejoined his class and left them to make their way out of the guild. Gilyan motioned for Syl to follow him and they headed out into town. They stepped out of the cool corridors of the guild into the clammy heat which was not in the least bit relieved by the pitiful breeze which flowed through the narrow streets. Syl shrugged under the heavy fabric of her cloak, feeling the discomfort of the added warmth it brought her. She then recalled an old trick she’d learnt from her mother to keep her warm in the freezing winter months in Skyrim. Remembering how her mum had shown her how to heat the body with an essentially pale imitation of a Flare spell, she placed her hand to her chest and felt the chill of her Cold Touch spell surge through her limbs, instantly alleviating the heat. With a sigh of relief, she started after Gilyan who was already making his way through the crowds. They levelled with each other as they reached the outskirts of town and continued their walk in silence for a few minutes before Gilyan spoke up.

“So where are you from exactly? They said you were brought in from the Imperial City.”

“I was. But I was born in Skyrim. My father was the son of a Chieftain in the Whiterun Mountains. My mother was from Vvardenfell though. House Telvanni.” Syl said in a manner which implied her words had either been well-rehearsed or simply repeated over to many people.

“Ah. I see. Which is the reason for the…” He indicated his own face in example.

“Yes, it is.”

A silence fell between them which Syl prayed was an indication he had little more interest in her past, but it wasn’t long before he spoke up again. “By ‘was’ do you mean your parents are deceased?”

Syl frowned as he picked up on her particular use of grammar. Very few people jumped so quickly to the correct conclusions.

“I don’t mean to pry…” He added as she failed to reply.

“Oh no. I mean yes they are.” Syl replied hastily.

Another silence befell them. “I’m guessing by the way you don’t want to talk about it that it’s got something to do with you living in the Imperial City?”

Syl glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re quite astute for a fighter. Most of those I knew were really all blade and no brains.”

He laughed and shrugged. “Who said I was a fighter?”

“For starters you carry a silver longsword at your hip, which is truly not a weapon for beginners. Secondly, you belong to the Fighter’s Guild- speaks for itself. And lastly, your armour:” Syl looked him up and down. “A full set of medium armour, in good condition but showing signs of use. And if I am not mistaken, Gah-Julan armour is typical to the Redoran Great House. All in all I would happily conclude you were a Knight of some sort, likely following in the footsteps of a father or other paternal figure in the hope of fulfilling your House duty of pride and honour.” She paused for effect. “Please, correct me if I’m wrong.” Syl smiled smugly as he listened with wide eyes.

“Well done. I am impressed.” He smiled broadly, nodding in acknowledgement of her perceptive observations. “To what do you owe those skills then?”

She grinned. “Years of watching people.”

They had reached a tall bridge of Dwemer origin which passed over the foyada to the place where Gilyan believed the ruins were situated. A heavy fog hung low over the bridge and masked the opposite side, leaving the companions a little wary.

“I hear these ruins are crawling with smugglers, so we move carefully, alright?” Gilyan explained as he drew his sword and looked at Syl expectantly. “You don’t have a weapon do you...?”

“I don’t need one.” She replied dismissively. “And what do you mean, ‘crawling with smugglers’?! Aren’t we two steps away from an Imperial Fort?!”

Gilyan shrugged. “As if that makes any difference around here.”

He turned his attention back to the bridge and the pair of them started walking blindly into the fog. A few steps in, Syl threw her arm out across Gilyan’s chest to stop him in his tracks. She quickly regretted it as her arm flew straight into the Bonemold leaving her with an awful numbing pain she wasn’t about to forget fast. Gilyan looked down at her in surprise, not understanding why she had stopped. She then indicated that there was someone at the other end of the bridge, and so, tightening his grip on the handle of his sword, Gilyan moved in front of her and quietly moved forward.

Unexpectedly, the fog began to clear and revealed an Imperial sitting hunched in on a stack of wooden boxes at the end of the pass. The soft clink of Gilyan’s boots on the metal of the Dwemer construction alerted the Imperial of their presence, and he spent no time asking questions before Syl felt him reaching beyond Nirn in an act of summoning. Seconds later, three skeleton champions appeared before them wreathed in that familiar golden fire.

Gilyan jumped straight into action, moving straight for the closest undead and brought his sword down into it. As Syl heard the sickening crack of bone as Gilyan’s sword broke through the frames of the summonings, she focused on the Imperial. He threw a frost spell which hit her straight in the chest knocking her back against the ramp of the bridge. She caught herself on the edge as the frost spread through her body, but felt the strength of the spell seep into her, expanding her reserves of magicka. It had been a while since she’d been action and it was clear her reflexes were not as sharp as they used to be. She was impatient to test her strength, so pushing herself back up onto her feet, she drew deep into her reserves and sent a searing ball of fire into her attacker sending him flying back over the edge and plummeting down into the valley below, dripping in the flames of her spell.

The last of the skeletons dissipated into thin air before Gilyan could land the final blow, taking him by surprise. Looking up he saw Syl standing there with her eyes closed as she relished the feeling of magicka coursing through her body. The effects of the frost spell were wearing off and the muggy air relieved her of the biting cold which lingered. She took a deep breath, taking in the smell of burning flesh that still hung in the air, melting in with the sulphuric scent left behind by her spell.

“That was a pretty powerful show there.” He pointed out, walking up to her.

She slowly opened her eyes, her face showing content. “It’s been a while… and it feels good.” 

“Don’t get too carried away there.” He said only half-jokingly.

She laughed, the chime of her voice echoing off the walls of the ruins. “Are you scared?”

“Only of pissing you off...”


	12. Arkngthang

Syl and Gilyan moved forward and reached a metal crank which appeared to work the heavy metal door which blocked the entrance to the ruins. Gilyan set about turning the handle, but it took more effort than he expected to shift the rusted mechanism. Eventually, he managed to turn the handle a full rotation which set the machinery to open the door into gear. The door began to revolve with a ghastly amount of screeching and grinding which caused the pair of them to wince considering anyone inside must now be aware of their arrival.

Gilyan drew his sword again and strode forward into the darkness of the ruins, followed by Syl who was becoming more than apprehensive about this trip. Her powers did not seem to have weakened in strength or power, but she couldn’t deny that she was out of practice. Her reflexes were slow and her resistance was lowered.

They moved silently through the ruins, staying in the safety of the shadows and seeking out the other smugglers in the orange light which emanated from the peculiar devices on the wall. Only two men patrolled the main room and Syl insisted on moving forward alone leaving an anxious Gilyan hidden behind a mass of rocks. She cast a weak invisibility spell as she approached them, keeping her hidden from sight long enough to reach the first man and place a draining spell on the back of his head to send him into unconsciousness. As he dropped to the ground at her feet, the Redguard across the room turned in time to see Syl hurl a paralysis spell in his direction which exploded into a green cloud on his chest. Gilyan came out of his hiding place just as she rendered the Redguard unconsciousness.

“It’ll be faster if we split up.” Syl said as she stood from her crouch.

Gilyan shrugged reluctantly and then followed her through the heavy metal door leading down into a confusing network of corridors. Syl took the right wing, striding through the corridors and relying on her skill to incapacitate the few smugglers who roamed the halls. Most rooms were fairly bare, sometimes occupied by the rusting metal frame of a bed or a cabinet holding various sized Dwemer plates and bowls. Syl found her way blocked several times by caved in corridors, making her wonder whether the object she was looking for was somewhere buried out of reach. The thought began to sound more and more realistic by the time she ran into an equally exasperated Gilyan a full hour later.

“Nothing?” He asked, half hopefully.

“No. I’m starting to wonder if it’s even still here. By the looks of it, they’ve been clearing the place out… It could’ve easily been snatched up some time ago.”

“I was thinking the same. I saw another door up on the second floor when we came in, it’s worth a shot.”

They headed out the door which led back to the main hall and made their way up to the second floor. Syl inspected a cabinet across the room whilst Gilyan pried open the heavy door. He was met on the other side by a ruff looking Imperial who was crouched over a heavy sack of goods. He picked up a heavy hammer and launched himself at Gilyan who drew his sword in a flash, blocking his first attack and parrying the next. Syl held back, afraid of hitting Gilyan if she meddled herself in the fight and watched with apprehension as they continued to dance under each other’s attacks. Gilyan was a strong fighter- he was fast and attacked with accuracy- but his skill was matched by the Imperial’s unusual raw power which he placed behind every swing. It wasn’t long before Syl noticed the familiar frenzy in the man’s eyes, revealing the chemical secret behind his surprising strength. 

Gilyan ducked under one of the deadly swings and tried to reach the man’s weaker left side to strike, but his opponent reacted to his movements too quickly. As the smuggler swung again, one of the hammer’s crude spikes slipped between the bone plates of Gilyan’s cuirass and pierced his side. He bit back a cry of pain and instead placed all of his strength behind his next attack, burying his sword up into the man’s rib cage. The Imperial spluttered and stumbled back as Gilyan pulled his sword out and clutched his side. 

Syl caught him as best she could as he slid to the floor, gently lowering him so that he was rested up against the wall. She glanced over at the dead man a few feet from them before helping Gilyan undo the straps of his cuirass so that she could inspect his injury. Syl felt the strain in his muscles as he fought back the urge to cry out in pain when she pulled back his blood-soaked shirt. The wound was not severe, but she could see he was losing blood at an alarming rate. Without hesitation she gently placed her hand over the injury and cast a healing spell which closed the cut and stemmed the bleeding and followed it by another restoration spell to diminish the tenderness of the scar which had just been formed. She pulled her hand back to examine her handiwork.

“You know I’ve never been really good at Restoration.” She flashed him a cheeky smile.

Gilyan let out a long sigh of relief before looking down to inspect the damage. “I’d hate to see what you think of my healing skill.” He let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Ah! Laughing hurts. Teaches me for taking on a skooma addict.”

Syl smiled. “Rest a little while.” 

She stood and inspected the small room they were in. It was mostly dominated by large awkward machinery and several empty metal shelves. She walked over to the large linen sack in the corner; it was overflowing with Dwemer artifacts which had clearly been hurriedly stuffed inside. Syl began to pick out the items one by one, studying their peculiar forms.

“I thought the dealing and trading of Dwemer items was illegal…” She remarked half-absently.

Gilyan laughed, wincing from the pain. “It is. Why do you think Antabolis sent us to get this box?”

Syl turned to stare at him, outraged. “You mean we’re risking our neck for that slimy pig?!”

He shrugged. “That’s the way things work. You don’t get anything for free.”

She hissed under her breath. As she continued rummaging through the various objects, her hand came across a smaller object, no larger than the size of a fist with sharp right angles. Her eyes lit up as her long thin fingers turned the little cube over again and again.

“This information better be worth it.” She sneered.


	13. Dealing With Mages

“Wonderful little thing isn’t it?”

“Wonderful little illegal thing.” Syl corrected with clear contempt.

Antabolis grinned. “I suppose it is. Well, in reward for retrieving this I’ll give you the information you came for. I’ll write Caius the notes he needs and you can come collect them tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Gilyan cut in before Syl could make another sly remark.

“No! Thank you! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on this cube?!” He chuckled.

Syl and Gilyan left him to play with his new toy and headed back over to the Eight Plates. They sat down and ordered some wine while she began to bombard Gilyan with questions about the nature of the information they had been asked to retrieve. He had just begun outlining his basic knowledge of the situation when a tired looking little Bosmer walked into the tavern dragging his feet.

“I hate teleportation!” Fimmion said, collapsing into a chair at their table.

“Did you manage to track down all the books on the list?” Syl asked.

“Yes.” He replied with all the impertinence of a small child. “I did. And I had to travel to every city Guildhall in Vvardenfell to do it! Not counting the fact I spent hours trawling through Dorisa’s dusty collection.”

“Thank you, Fimmion.”

“You’re welcome… I suppose. Who’s this?” He asked as if only now noticing Gilyan sitting there.

“This is Gilyan Goren.”

Gilyan nodded as if in confirmation. Fim looked at him curiously before turning back to Syl with apparent disinterest in the Dunmer.

“You’ve been walking around town with this clown?”

Syl couldn’t help but laugh. “Gods no! I had him walk a few paces behind me so that people wouldn’t think we were travelling together.”

As Sorceress and Apprentice laughed at his expense, Gilyan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms patiently. When they had calmed down Fim turned back to him, his face bearing only a slightly more sober expression.

“So you belong to the Fighter’s Guild don’t you?”

“How did you know?” Gilyan asked, still admiring the peculiar relationship between the two elves.

Fim shrugged. “Seen you around town. Besides, you’re quite well known around here aren’t you?”

It was Gilyan’s turn to laugh. “A little.”

“In any case, what’s an elf got to do to get some food around here?”

***

“I notice there’s no mention of the Nerevarine Cult?” Caius said, looking up from the hurriedly scribbled notes Gilyan had picked up from Antabolis the next morning.

“He claimed to know nothing about it.” Gilyan shrugged. “I think he said Sharn Gra-Muzgob might know something though.”

“Oh dear.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Why? What’s the problem?” Syl asked from her little corner in the dingy little apartment.

“It’s just Sharn isn’t exactly renown for her openness.” Gilyan explained, turning to face her.

“Not since the Temple’s been watching her every move in any case.” Caius added. “She’ll take a lot more persuading than Antabolis did by the sounds of it.”

Syl frowned for a moment in thought. “She works at the Mage’s Guild doesn’t she?” The Spymaster nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” She concluded with a shrug. “I’m pretty used to dealing with irritable mages.”

“If you’re sure you can convince her to speak to you two...”

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I honestly think it would be for the best if I handled this one by myself. I’ve twice as much chance of getting her to speak to me if I’m alone.” Syl pointed out, leaving out the obvious well known fact that the mages never took too well to visitors in the Guild unless they were there to do official business.

Caius looked expectantly at Gilyan who said nothing but seemed to nod his approval. Considering the idea for a moment, Cosades reluctantly agreed to let her handle this one alone, assigning Gilyan to some more information gathering in the city of Vivec. He’d recently called in a few favours with some old friends and had found some more people who could help them in their collation of knowledge about the apparently obscure topics of the Sixth House and the Nerevarine Cult. Syl herself knew little about these subjects either and had asked to borrow the notes Antabolis had written out for the Spymaster which he was surprisingly more than happy for her to look over. It certainly did not escape her attention that he seemed the most pleased he had been since meeting her when she expressed an interest in the various subject areas.

Having arranged to meet back there in a day’s time, Syl left the men to their discussions and headed back to the Guildhall. There was a market on today and the town was bustling with an unusual amount of activity. Syl pushed her way impatiently through the crowds cursing under her breath as several people stepped on her feet. Finally she reached the Mages Guild and breathed a sigh of relief as she shut the door abruptly cutting off the sounds of haggling and general shouts filling the streets of Balmora.

Syl made her way down into the main hall of the guild, which was actually subterranean so as to keep the suffocating heat of Vvardenfell at bay. She greeted the few mages who looked up from their work with a nod which they courteously returned though she could see they were trying to recall whether they had met her before and simply could not remember her face or whether she was in fact a friendly stranger. Truth of the matter was, was that she was neither but she knew it was better for them to think of her as pleasant rather than intimidating and arrogant. At least for a few months.


	14. Mages With Dark Secrets

She found Fimmion at one of the desks set out on the main hall which was silent save for the hushed whispers of conversing mages and the soft bubbling of a nearby alchemist’s latest experiment. The Bosmer was flicking through the pages of a book illustrated with detailed drawings and diagrams of various floras.

“How are you getting on with your latest assignment, then?” Syl asked as she took a seat across from him.

“Alright. I’d be getting on better if everyone stopped assuming I was the general slave and go-getter around here.” He remarked with disgust.

“I’ll have a word with them. Continue with your reading, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She stood to leave and turned back on a second thought. “Have you seen Sharn around by any chance?”

“Sure. She’s across the hall over there in her little corner, as usual.”

Syl looked around and spied the orc in a solitary part of the main study hall poring over her books, her nose practically touching the pages. She turned to leave but Fimmion ushered her back.

“Wait! I forgot to tell you. I made a couple of potions earlier and well, Ajira said they weren’t too bad and she’d buy them off of me for a fair price. I thought, maybe I could start helping you pay for our accommodation at the Eight Plates and all… If you don’t mind me spending a bit more time on that kind of thing…”

She smiled. “You really do have an affinity for alchemy, don’t you?” Fim shrugged and dropped his gaze to fixate on the grain of the wood of the table. “Well, I think it would be time well spent. And don’t be afraid to save the best ones for yourself. There’s no point in having a talent if you can’t use it for yourself from time to time.”

He grinned and nodded before turning his attention back to his books. Syl watched him for a moment longer before drifting across the quiet room over to the deserted space which Sharn often took over with her experiments and peculiar studies. At this moment in time, Sharn had piled heavy tomes on every open table surface she could find and appeared to be trawling through each of them one at a time in an attempt to find something which continued to eluded her. She approached quietly out of respect and waited patiently for Sharn to pause and lift her head. She did not.

“Sharn?” She finally asked tentatively in a hushed voice.

“Oh finally decided to speak, did you? What do you want? You’ve been standing there long enough.”

Syl sat on the bench opposite Sharn and leant forward. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“If you’ve come to me, I’m guessing you know that I can help you. The problem is, is that I don’t want to. And if I don’t want to do something, I don’t do it. Simple as.” Sharn retorted, finally deigning to look her in the eye.

Syl sighed. “It’s a shame. And here I thought I could help you in return.”

She snorted. “What could you possibly help me with?”

Syl glanced around at the dusty books spread out around them and replied with casual indifference. “By the looks of it, some of these books aren’t exactly on the set reading list for Guild Mages and well, I have… experience in this field that may have come in useful, but if you don’t-”

“What do you know?” Sharn’s eyes narrowed.

Syl shrugged with an air of indifference and pointed over to one of the tomes to her right. “I know that that volume over there has been banned from the guild and you need some pretty good contacts to get a copy. And I know that were Ranis to find out what you were studying, she’d have you kicked out of the guild faster than you can say ‘necromancer’.” She paused letting it sink in. “I know that because that’s exactly what happened to me.”

Sharn watched her in silent contemplation. “You’ve practiced necromancy?”

“A little. Out of sheer curiosity.”

“Very well. I’ll talk to you. As long as you do me a small favour.”


	15. The Nerevarine Cult

“Name your price, Sharn.”

Sharn leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’d like you to retrieve me an object for my research. I don’t have time for such trivial expeditions, but I’m sure you’ll find the time.”

Syl smiled. “What is it?”

“A skull. You’ll find it in an ancestral tomb not far from Pelagiad. I’ll write you some instructions on how to get there.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“So, what was it you wanted to ask me about?”

“In short, the Nerevarine Cult.”

Sharn paused. “Are you working for Caius?”

“... I am. Is there a problem?”

She snorted. “No. He said he might send someone my way about this stuff, eventually. A sort of repayment, if you will.”

“Repayment?” Syl asked.

“Yes. See, the temple doesn’t really approve of some of my research. I published a few papers a while back which rubbed some people up the wrong way. Caius helped get them off my back.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, the Nerevarine Cult is a group of Ashlanders who believe in the reincarnation of the Lord Nerevar. They believe that when he returns he will rid Morrowind of the ‘invaders’ and of the ‘false gods’. I’ll write Caius some more detailed notes with everything I know that you can take back to him.”

“Thank you. But I have a question: by these ‘false gods’, do you mean the Tribunal?”

“Of course. They’re just a bunch of pretenders.” She glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. “But I wouldn’t go around repeating that. It’s what got me into trouble.”

Syl grinned. “What did you write in your papers, then?”

“I might have suggested that... through the use of necromancy... we could prove they were not what they are proclaimed to be...”

“I can imagine how that didn’t go down so well.”

“Indeed. I’m now known as the local heretic. If it weren’t for my status as a mage and Caius’ help, I wouldn’t be here... Not that I’m going to quit my research just because some self-righteous religious fanatics took offence to it!” She declared, grinning. “Anyhow,” She reached over to her left and brought out a fresh piece of parchment and started scribbling away, “here are the instructions on how to get to the tomb. It’s a walkable distance. I’ll have Caius’ notes ready when you get back.”

Syl took the instructions and nodded. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

She left the hall and headed for the sleeping quarters. She changed into some fresh travelling clothes she had stored in a chest and packed a few items into a backpack. Ready to leave, she stood by the bedside and closed her eyes. Her head was thumping again. She’d suffered severe headaches since her arrival on the island and they didn’t seem to be alleviating. At first she thought it was just the heat, but she’d become accustomed to it.

She took a deep breath. She was starting to think it was all too much. It was all so surreal. Her world seemed to just be spinning out of control at an alarming rate. She had to keep closing her eyes and taking deep breaths to give her the strength to keep walking through this nightmare. But she knew this wasn’t a nightmare. She knew she wouldn’t wake up and find herself under the heavy silk sheets of her university bedchamber in the Imperial City.

She opened her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

Syl jumped. Fimmion was standing across the other side of the bed. “Oh. Yes. Sorry, just daydreaming. How long have you been standing there?”

He shrugged. “Not long... Are you sure you’re alright?”

Syl smiled reassuringly, but her eyes betrayed fatigue. “I’m sure. It’s just a headache.”

“I could make you something up for it, if you want. I used to make them for Master Eddriel all the time.”

“That would be very useful. Thank you.” She picked up her pack from the bed. “I’m heading out to Lake Amaya this afternoon. I should be back before those greedy mages sit down for supper.”


	16. Voices

Syl reached the tomb just as the sun slipped behind the reaches of the horizon. The sun cast a golden pink glow across the silvery smooth surface of the lake, painting a romantic picture for anyone to see, yet Syl stood with her back to it staring at the entrance to the ancestral tomb. 

The heavy set door which marked the entrance was shielded from the last rays of sun by a hood carved out of pale white rock. The smooth design stood in contrast to the ruff surface of the rock face into which the tomb was built into. Sparing one look at the beautiful sunset, she slipped Sharn’s instructions into her pack and headed inside.

All sense of warmth seeped from her body as soon as she stepped inside the tomb. Syl had been around death before and recognised the feeling. It felt like all your hope and happiness was being drained from you. Slowly. She peered down the stairs into the darkness and spied nothing. She brought a closed fist up to her lips and whispered a soft incantation. She uncurled her fingers to reveal a small glowing green orb.

Clutching her only source of light, Syl made her way down the stairs, her cloak brushing the steps behind her. As quietly as possible, she continued into the tunnels of the tomb, occasionally stopping to examine the numerous altars for the object of her search. It was only when she reached the lower levels of the tomb that she noticed the whispering for the first time. At first she thought it may have just imagined it, but it grew steadily louder with every step she took. The voices started to get louder and soon grew unbearable. Unsure of how much more she could take she turned back the way she came and froze.

Syl stood face to face to a tall spectral figure. For a moment she tried to reason between fight or flight but she couldn’t concentrate. The voices rose to screams and she felt as though her head were splitting in two. The shrieks rang out everywhere as she turned ran deeper into the tomb, slowly followed by the ghost which blocked her path. She ran blindly, knowing it was futile. No tomb had two exits.

She reached the end of the corridor and crashed through door. She spun around and slammed it shut behind her and stumbled away from it, her eyes wide with terror. Her breathing was ragged from the running and her limbs felt as though the very life was being dragged out of them. She stepped back and suddenly felt her body pressing into the cool rock of the back wall of the room. 

Unable to hold herself up any longer, Syl collapsed right there on the floor catching her head in her hands. Her fingers clamped around her head trying to squeeze the noise out of it. Her face twisted in agony and she let out a blood curdling cry before finally slipping into the release of unconsciousness.

***

Eventually, Syl came to in the quietened depths of the tomb. Her body was shaking and she felt extremely weak. As she pushed herself up to a sitting position, her hand brushed up against a smooth round item. Her light had long since dissipated, so in the darkness her hand sought out the object once again.

Her long fingers closed around the object once again and she brought it close. It didn’t take her long to identify the globe as a skull and from the particular grooves in it she guessed it was what she had been looking for. And so, clutching her lucky find to her chest, she closed her eyes and muttered the only transportation spell that she could formulate in her scrambled mind.


	17. Almsivi Intervention

“She’s waking up!”

“Trels, go fetch her friend.”

Syl heard the patter of slippered feet fade away in the distance. She forced her heavy eyes open and flinched as the light blinded her. As her eyes adjusted, she began to make out two Dunmer faces peering over her.

The younger of the two, beamed at her as she shifted her head to look at them properly. “Are you feeling better, sera?”

“Let her breath, Mamaea.”

Syl looked around her, confused. She didn’t recognise her surroundings and struggled to remember how she’d got here. The last thing she could remember was...

“Thank the Gods, you’re alright!”

Gilyan strode into the room at stood at the foot of the bed, dumping his small pack on the floor.

Syl frowned. “What... How did I...?”

She tried to sit up but two small hands pushed her back down with ease. “You mustn’t sit, sera. You’re still not well.”

“Huh?” Syl stared up at the small girl. She couldn’t have been more than 6 years of age.

“Mamaea’s insisted on taking care of you, sera. She aspires to be a healer, when she grows up.” The older girl offered.

“And she’s done an excellent job, I must say.” Gilyan added encouragingly, flashing the young girl a bright smile which made her beam with pride.

“Maybe we should leave her in peace for a little while, eh Mamaea?”

“What if she doesn’t feel well again?” The little Dunmer girl argued turning a worried eye on Syl.

Gilyan and the older girl watched Syl expectantly. “Oh... Um... I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mamaea. I’ll... I’ll send for you if I feel unwell.”

The young girl nodded and allowed herself to be led out of the small room by the hand. When they were alone, Gilyan turned back to her and offered her another smile. He pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and settled himself again at the end of her bed. With a strained effort, Syl brought herself up to a sitting position.

“Where am I?”

“The Temple. How much do you remember? You were pretty out of it when I found you...”

“You... found me?!”

Gilyan frowned. “Yes. I had just left the Eight Plates to go looking for you when you appeared just outside the Temple courtyard.”

“I… appeared?” Syl paused for a moment. “Ah… I think I remember… I remember casting Almsivi Intervention…”

It was then that her mind was suddenly flooded with the memories. The tomb, the voices, the ghost… She winced as she recalled the pain, the unbearable pain…

“I picked you up and brought you inside, here.” He continued. “You lost consciousness. You’ve been out for nearly day. Don’t worry, I left a message for your apprentice. He’ll probably be by soon to see how you are.” Syl smiled at this. “And I somehow managed to keep this from Caius. It’s probably in both of our best interests that he doesn’t find out.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Gilyan took a deep breath. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

She cringed as he asked her the question she had been dreading. Controlling her facial expressions she prepared herself to lie to the best of her abilities, but he interrupted her before she even had the chance to start.

“Before you come up with some poor explanation for this, maybe I should give this back to you…” He reached into his pack and pulled out an odd spherical object.

Syl couldn’t control the sharp intake of breath as she recognised the engraved skull which had got her into all of this mess.

“Where did you get that?” She asked as calmly as she could.

He placed the skull delicately back into his pack out of sight. “You were clutching it pretty tightly when you collapsed.” He paused. “Syl, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is…”

“That depends. What does it look like?” She cursed herself for such a poor defence.

Gilyan leaned forward and lowered his voice to a seething whisper. “It looks like you were practicing necromancy!”

To this she laughed. “Well, then you can relax. I was not practicing… that.”

He was clearly irritated. “Then explain.”

Thinking that there was no point in hiding the reason for why she was in the tomb, she told him. She told him everything but discreetly left out the part about the voices.


	18. Dreams

A wedding. A tall figure. A watchful crowd.

Syl made her way through the procession. The figure bore a large gold mask etched with markings. He extended a hand towards her. She tried to turn and leave but she was constrained. She tried to scream but no sound left her mouth. She struggled as the crowd closed in on her…

“Fear not, for I am watchful. You have been chosen…”

***

Syl woke in a sweat, her breathing ragged. She looked around the darkened room and calmed her thumping heart. It had been nearly four days since she had woken in the temple and she had still not had a healthy night’s sleep. She was regularly woken by odd and unexplained dreams and she was starting to feel the strain of it. She had moved back into her room at the Eight Plates much to Fimmion’s delight.

He had been exceptionally helpful and respectfully subdued around her, whilst she tried her best to recover. Caius had found out about the accident anyway through his many sources and had instructed Gilyan to accompany her whenever she stepped outside of town. Sharn, on the other hand had been thrilled to hear of her encounter and as promised handed over the notes she needed. She was also the only person to whom Syl confided the account of the voices. Syl wasn’t sure why of all people she had chosen the orc, but she suspected it had something to do with the fact that she was the most likely person to have the ability to help. Sharn had taken in all the information and promised to return to her with some answers. Syl silently prayed for her research to yield something useful.

As soon as the first rays of sunlight poured through the open window, Syl set out for Caius’ bedsit across town. Gilyan was due to return from Ald’Ruhn today and Caius wanted Syl to keep up with the goings on of the investigation even though he refused to assign her any tasks until he was sure she was in a fit state again. Thus, she spent her time tutoring Fimmion and concentrating on her own guild studies. Unfortunately, Ranis had recently approached her with a request disguised as a favour which Syl was obliged to accept. She had asked her to travel out of town to recruit a particularly talented and stubborn mage to their ranks. To compound her annoyance at being sent on such a meaningless task, Syl knew she wouldn’t get away without asking Caius’ permission to leave town. Since when had she fallen so low that her freedom was in the hands of some Imperialist?

She knocked tentatively and waited for an owl-eyed Caius to open the door for her. He greeted her warmly and indicated for her to take a seat. This was the routine.

He yawned. “I received a note from Gilyan yesterday. He’ll meet you just outside of town at noon. Your assignment is taking you away from Balmora for a few days, so bring what you need.”

Straight to the point, as usual. This is what Syl liked about Caius. “Outside of town? Are you sure it’s safe for me to go there?"

He smiled. “Alright, I know you haven’t enjoyed the past few days, but I can’t afford you to get yourself into a mess again. Take things a bit slower. Do a couple of runs with Gilyan and I’ll let you out on your own soon enough.”

She eyed him for a moment before answering. “Thank you.”

He turned away and reached for an envelope resting on his shelf. “I’m not doing it as a favour. I believe you’re strong. Gilyan told me that much. But this place is different; it’s not like the mainland. I want you to adapt before I send you out alone.” She nodded. “Alright, then. Give these to Gilyan when you see him. He should already know his orders, so you should be fine.”

She took the plain envelope and contemplated reading the contents before handing them over. She looked up and noticed Caius was watching her with the most peculiar expression.

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head as if breaking from a daze and smiled. “No, not at all.” He took the seat opposite her. “I have a lot on my mind. It’s part of the job.”

“Ah. Alright.”

“I’m glad to see you’re doing better though.” He added. He took a deep breath and reassumed his business tone. “Well, back to work. You’ve a lot of work to do to pay off your debt to the Emperor.”

Syl smiled. She’d almost forgotten why she was here. “Indeed.”

“Don’t worry. Personally, I’m starting to think you’re going to be quite useful around here.”

To this she grinned. “All you have to do is let me off the leash.”


	19. Detour

Gilyan grinned as she approached. “Good day, sera.”

She smiled in return. “So where are we heading? I hope you can protect me from the big bad monsters out there… You know, the ones waiting around corners.”

He laughed. “We’re going to be heading north. We’ll stop off at the Fort to get some supplies, it can get pretty hairy up there.”

“Gods forbid!” She said with mock horror.

“Let’s get going, then.” He turned to head east but she caught his arm.

“Hang on a sec. Aren’t you at least going to tell me the plan is?”

“The plan is to go to Fort Moonmoth… Did I not already explain?” He replied in with light-hearted indifference.

They hadn’t been around each other for more than five minutes and already her patience was wearing thin. “And after that…?”

“Oh well, I didn’t want to tell you just yet. It would take all the fun out of it!” He flashed her a cheeky grin.

She pulled an envelope out from the back pocket of her travelling pants and held it up in front of him. “I have something here for you from Caius.”

It took him a moment to catch up, expecting her to start another fight. “Oh. Right. Thank you.” He reached for it but she snatched it away at the last second.

“Huh? I wasn’t going to give it to you yet. It would just take all the fun out of it!”

“Ha ha. I get it. Will you just stop being childish and hand them over?”

Glad that she’d struck a chord, she chose to push it a little more. “I’m not particularly inclined to… Oh I hope it isn’t as flammable as that coded message was…”

“Fine. We’re heading to an Ashlander tribe on the northern coast. It’s just another trip for information. Satisfied?”

Syl paused for a moment. “Hmph. I suppose.”

She handed over the envelope with no more hassle. He opened it and read it straight away. His face betrayed no hint of what the letter contained. After having glanced over it he folded it up and put it away in his own pack.

“Shall we set off?”

She nodded her agreement to the matter and Gilyan started making way. Suddenly remembering, she caught his arm again and he stopped.

“I have a favour to ask. Please.”

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Alright...?”

“Could we maybe take a detour to the east while we’re on the road? I... need to visit someone.”

“Visit someone? A friend?”

“Of sorts...” She offered him a smile.

After a moment’s thought he agreed. “That’s fine. Lead the way then.”

***

They followed the instructions Ranis had given her to reach the mage’s domain and now stood in front of the door to Sulipund. It was a typical old style Redoran stronghold which appeared to have been long abandoned. Whilst thoughts that the directions Ranis had given her were incorrect, she couldn’t help but notice how similar it was to the tomb she had visited not long ago. The memory sent shivers down her spine.

Daylight was rapidly running out and the companions wanted to be on the road again before the sun set entirely, so they wasted no time. Syl briefly instructed Gilyan to stay a step behind her and keep quiet under all circumstances- conditions which were, of course, met with complaints. She concluded the conversation by explaining that if he insisted, as he did, on accompanying her inside, it would be much simpler and less threatening for him to appear as an escort for a mage envoy.

Taking one more moment to adjust her stance and straighten her robes, Syl proceeded inside. Reassuringly, the passages and halls of the complex were lit at regular intervals by torches. Otherwise, they found it eerily quiet and disturbingly still. Warily they wandered until the passage began to wind upwards, supposedly towards the main chamber. Reaching the door at the end of the corridor, Syl stopped dead.

The air was filled with the intoxicating sulphuric stench of magic. She reached out with her senses and tensed as she felt the presence of a very strong summoning on the other side of the door. She gave Gilyan a silent warning and moved to open the door.


	20. Family Heritage

The door swung open to reveal six robed Dunmers encircling the threatening presence Syl had sensed from the other side of the door. The daedroth towered above all of the mages and she noticed Gilyan’s hand dart to the pommel of his sword.

The mages turned to identify the person responsible for the interruption. Puzzlement mixed with aggression painted each and every one of their faces. The tense silence built to an almost unbearable level before one of the mages finally stepped forward. His extravagant robed distinguished him from the others and gave Syl the impression he was the one she looking for.

“Who are you, stranger?” He spoke in deep tones.

“Syl’Rahna Dareleth. I am here on behalf of Ranis Athrys, the steward of the Mages Guild in Balmora.”

“Ranis sent you?!” His face relaxed to reveal a friendly and amused look. “Ha. She never does give up, does she? Here, let’s go talk business.”

He turned to face the others and dismissed them, waving a hand to dispel the summoning which until this point had loomed unnervingly in the background. It was one of Syl’s aspirations to be able cast spells of that strength. She could summon a daedroth, but certainly not keep it on this plane for that length of time with such casual effect. When the other mages had filed out of the room, past Syl and Gilyan, they were led up the steps across the other side of the chamber and emerged in a mezzanine office.

The mage strode across the room and seated himself in the grand desk chair. He indicated for Syl to take a seat and then looked questioningly at her companion.

“This is Fighter Gilyan. He is my escort.” She added before his questioning glare offended Gilyan.

“Ah, of course.” He waited for her to be seated, whilst Gilyan took up a strict stance behind her seat as his role demanded. “I am Llarar Bereloth, as you might have guessed, and I also know why you are here. So, in order to save us all some time, I will go ahead and tell you that my answer is ‘no’.”

Syl smiled slyly. “I suspect you know I cannot bring that sort of response back to my superiors.”

“Indeed I do.” He paused for a moment examining her with dark blood shot eyes. “You said your name was Dareleth... You wouldn’t perhaps belong to the Telvanni House would you?”

She was taken off guard. “Well, I myself do not, no. My mother, on the other hand, was a Telvanni daughter. Her father was Kira Dareleth.”

His eyes opened wide. “Is that so? Well, I knew your... grandfather. His name still holds much respect in our House. I was not aware he had a granddaughter, however.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. My mother left Morrowind with her husband before my birth.” She suddenly felt uncomfortable even revealing this much about her family history. Could she trust this man?

“I see. Now Syl’Rahna, can you tell me what position you hold in the guild?”

“I am at the level of Conjurer... I’m sorry but of what relevance is this?”

He smiled. “Oh, no relevance at all. I’m simply sating my own humble curiosity.”

Syl watched the older mer. His face was aged but his eyes were bright and aware. She could almost watch his mind at work as he analysed her in return taking in everything about her. That was the problem when dealing with experienced mages; they could read a person far too well without them uttering a word.

Holding her own under his glare she calmly steered the conversation back. “So what will it take to make the Ranis’ offer appealing?”

There was a short silence during which Bereloth focused his eyesight on some invisible point in the distance as if calculating something. When he finally answered, he appeared to completely ignore her question. “I don’t suppose you’ve been inducted into your family’s Great House, have you?”

Syl’s irritation caused her mind to be flooded with words such as ‘senile’ and ‘s’wit’ and it took a conscious effort to push them aside to vocalize the more appropriate response. “No.”

His eyes lit up. “Then there you have it!”

“Have what?” Syl spoke through gritted teeth.

“A deal.” He stood and grinned at her. “I shall join your guild on the condition that you join the Great House to which you belong.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and stayed seated. “I was under the impression the Great Houses weren’t great fans of Outlanders...?”

“Ah, but when your ancestor is Kira Dareleth, I’m sure an exception can be made.”


	21. A Journey North

Gilyan stepped back out into the stifling heat and waited for Syl to pull the door closed behind them.

“By Azura, where is that awful stench coming from?!”

Gilyan glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s the sulphur from the volcanic pools to the east. The wind carries it through every valley in the region.”

“Lovely.” Syl replied with a grimace.

They set off in the direction where they came from with the plan to head for the coast and cut out a large part of the walking by going by boat, Gilyan explained.

“So you’re grandfather was a Telvanni leader?”

“He was.” Syl examined Gilyan in the corner of her eye. He was radiating tension. “Do you have sort of problem with the idea of me having Telvanni roots?”

“Not at all. But it explains a lot.” He replied curtly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing much. I was just referring to your natural magical abilities… And your attitude.”

“My attitude?!”

He laughed. “Yes. You’re not exactly a very accessible character, are you?”

She turned her nose up at him. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“There! You’re doing it again. Any time you feel the slightest bit threatened or under attack you suddenly become… You become… Excessively defensive.”

She rolled her eyes. “And so this is a quality shared by all Telvanni mages, in your opinion?”

Gilyan smiled. “Not all. Most. A lot of them hold a high opinion of themselves. I’ve met so many who thought they were undefeatable that it gets a bit tiring.”

“What about you Redorans? You believe you’re the only ones who know the true meaning of honour and duty.” There was a moment’s silence whilst Gilyan took the hit. “It’s a two way street.”

Eventually Gilyan turned to her with a grin. “You know you’d fit in pretty well in our house if you weren’t the spawn of some demon mage.”

Syl couldn’t help but laugh at this. She was coming to appreciate his baseline humour. “You take all this house allegiance pretty seriously, don’t you?”

“It’s the way I was brought up. After my parents died, my house took care of me. They made sure I never went hungry. At first I was just repaying a debt.”

“And now?”

“Now? Well, now I do it because I believe in it.”

“Hmph.”

“You’ve never felt that sort of belonging?”

Syl felt the lump rise in her throat. “I did, so I do understand. I just learnt very quickly that attachment is weakness.”

Sensing the tone of the conversation, Gilyan let the issue drop and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

It took the best part of the day to reach the village of Gnaar Mok. It was a small and poor fishing village with an old rotting dock that Syl was sure was going to give way under their weight as they walked over to the only boat currently docked.

Syl hung about patiently whilst Gilyan negotiated a reasonable fare to Khuul, which was proving difficult. From what Syl could gleam from the exaggerated arm movements of the shipmaster was that he never intended to take his boat that far north for at least another week. Eventually, with a few reasonable words and the right amount of coin, Gilyan persuaded him to take them all the way.

The companions settled below deck in the small ship and arranged themselves as best they could to get some sleep. Syl however, found it nearly impossible to get to keep her eyes closed after the flashbacks to the last time she woke in the bow of a ship. Ultimately, her body could no longer stay awake and she drifted into a heavy but uncomfortable sleep.


	22. A Promise

Syl stood in the empty tomb looking for a sign life. She turned around and noticed for the first time a simple altar. She approached it and looked down at figure lying there motionless. She screamed as she recognised herself- dead. She stepped back from the altar as the figure sharply drew breath and began to rise. She turned to run but found no door. The figure began to close in on her…

“Fear not, for I am watchful. You have been chosen…”

***

Syl awoke once again in a state. Gilyan sat beside her, his concern plain on his face.

“Are you alright?”

She caught her breath. “Just a bad dream.”

He nodded. “Tell me about it. I get them too… We’ve just arrived. It’s not a long walk from here.”

Syl stood and began gathering her things, her dream still vivid in her mind. It was always those same words. Where had they come from?

They climbed off the boat onto the Khuul dock as an icy breeze swept in from the north to cool Syl’s skin. She sighed at the brief relief it brought from the heat that she was finally growing accustomed to.

“This village is the only one blessed with the chill of Solstheim’s weather.” Gilyan remarked as he noted her reaction.

“Solstheim? Is it really that close?”

He nodded. “You can get a boat from here and be there short of a day.”

Syl looked to the north in the direction of the island she couldn’t see and smiled. Solstheim was the one of the last places where the Nordic culture she was used to still remained intact this far east.

“I wish I could go there now…”

Gilyan looked at her and saw her eyes were moist with tears. “Then, I promise as soon as this is done, I’ll take you there. My treat.”

She turned to him and grinned. “I’ll need first class travel and accommodation.”

Gilyan hadn’t lied when he said it wasn’t far, but the path they chose wasn’t exactly flat. At one point they had to wade through thigh high water to avoid the jutting rocks before they could follow the coastline again. Their clothes dried fast in the heat, but Syl still insisted on cursing her companion for such poor decisions. Later they took a long detour south to avoid coming too close to a daedric ruin, which slightly disappointed her because she burned with curiosity to catch a glimpse of one of these fabled structures.

Despite the obstacles along the way they still made good time and arrived at the ashlander camp mid afternoon. Before they entered the camp, Gilyan advised her- as she had before they entered Sulipund- to stay quiet. Apparently it wasn’t the first time he had visited the area and they were likely to respond better to a familiar face.

He was right.

As they walked into the camp, the people stopped what they were doing and stared up at them. The companions stopped in the centre of the camp where the ashlanders had cultivated a large plot of land where large grey and brown plants grew from the dust. Syl stood quietly by Gilyan’s side whilst he addressed an ashlander dressed in dusty linen clothes and worn leather shoes.

The exchange was pretty short and when they were finished, the ashlander walked them over to a group of larger yurts erected a little way from the busiest parts of the camp. He gestured to go ahead but blocked Syl’s path as she tried to follow Gilyan through into the tent.

“You may not go in.”

She looked at him appalled but then thought better than to argue with him. Gilyan had taken great care to instruct her about the manners and practices expected of visitors to ashlander camps. One was not to offend them lightly so Syl stepped back and left the men to their business.

After an hour or so, Gilyan emerged from the tent and came to seek her out. She had settled herself on the outskirts on the most comfortable rock she could find, keeping herself occupied with drawing flames in and out of existence in the palm of her hand.

He sat himself beside her and waited for her to snap out of her trance.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t expect it to turn into such a debate.”

“What was it about?”

Syl turned to look at him when he didn’t respond immediately. He took a deep breath and drew out a letter from his pocket. It was the letter she had passed onto him from Caius before they had set out.

“Here. It’s the decoded version of the message you delivered to Caius upon your arrival.”

She half thought he was joking.

“It’s is time you were told the truth.”


	23. Why Am I Here II

“Then why am I here, Gilyan?”

“Read it.” He gestured to the decoded message.

She read it once and looked up, astonished. After a moment she burst into laughter.

“This isn’t serious, it is?”

He looked at her soberly. She stopped laughing.

“Gilyan, this isn’t serious, is it?!”

A short silence fell between them as Syl re-read the letter in her hands.

“You people think… that I’m… the Nerevarine?”

“You fit the criteria.”

“I fit the criteria?”

“There are some signs. They’re supposed to determine Lord Nerevar’s incarnate.”

“Lord Nerevar?! Look, I don’t give a shit about signs! I’ll tell you right now, I’m NOT the Nerevarine.”

“That’s why we’re here, Syl’Rahna. To find out if you are or not.”

She frowned.

“The wise woman here knows more about the Nerevarine prophecies that anyone else alive. She’ll know.”

“By the Gods! I can’t believe I’ve been dragged half way across the Empire to be tested to be a bloody religious idol! It’s… It’s… It’s absurd!”

“The Emperor didn’t think so.” Gilyan pointed out, eyes still fixed to the ground.

Syl stood out of frustration and turned to face him. “Oh please! The Emperor has nothing to do with it! I bet you it’s just his scheming little lords desperate to find a way to take back control of Morrowind!”

“And how does that make you not the Nerevarine?”

“Because it a myth!” She exclaimed as patronisingly as she could.

The silence which overcame them was quite sudden after their loud exchange.

“There’s one more thing you should know.” Gilyan added in a low voice.

“What?! Is it that maybe you think I’m Azura’s semi-mortal love child too? Or maybe I’m-”

“They think I’m the Nerevarine too!” He shouted above her, finally daring to meet her vicious stare with his own.

She blinked. “Huh?”

He stood up before her and suddenly towered over her, despite her Dunmer stature and height.

“I meet the ‘criteria’ too.”

She looked at him a little dumbfounded, lost for words.

“I reacted the same way you did when Caius told me, so I know there’s nothing I can say to make you come to terms with it… but… For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner.”

Seeing the honesty in his eyes, Syl bit her lip out of guilt. “Me too.”

They stood there for a moment each contemplating what the meeting with the wise woman could bring.

“Come on. I don’t know about you but I’m dying to find out whether I’m the heir to a whole world of responsibility and persecution.” Gilyan declared with flare.

They made their way back into the centre of the camp and headed for the wise woman’s yurt. Gilyan held the curtain back as Syl walked in first. The yurt was surprisingly large inside and supported by a simple wooden frame. From the curved beams above their heads hung several wooden chimes and various charms and trinkets. The floor was covered with a collection of mismatched rugs which gave tent a fairly warm a cosy atmosphere. The tent however was fairly dark and Syl found that the only source of light were a couple of candles in the centre of the yurt. She frowned at the idea of using open flames to light such a flammable area.

They found the wise woman sat cross-legged on a sleeping mat across the other side of the yurt. Ducking under the dangling ornaments, Syl and Gilyan walked over to her.

“Sit.”

The companions lowered themselves as quietly as they could following the firm instructions of the elderly Dunmer woman. Her thin frame was covered by a simple brown robe and her long grey hair was fixed into bun using an assortment of long grey and blue feathers. She kept her eyes closed for what seemed like a painful eternity to Syl before she finally opened them and spoke.

“It is good to have you return, Gilyan.”

“The pleasure is mine. Let me introduce you to-”

“Syl’Rahna. Yes, know of her. I have heard her name whispered in my dreams.”

“You have?” Syl questioned impatiently, worrying about what this meant.

“You both seek to know if you are the Nerevarine, do you not?”

Syl nodded.

“Then I shall tell you this now. Neither of you are the Nerevarine.” Gilyan relaxed in that moment but Syl felt that the woman was not finished. “You are the ones who may become the Nerevarine.”

“We may become the Nerevarine?” Syl asked.

The woman turned her scrupulous eye on her as she spoke. “I know of Gilyan’s background and his potential to be the Nerevarine, but what of you?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t believe that I could be-”

“She shares the same aspect that I do, Nibani. We are both born under the sign of the Atronach and have a… dubious heritage.” Gilyan cut in.

“I see. But neither of you bear the mark of the moon-and-star.” She closed her eyes once again and Syl began to wonder whether that had been a question rather than a statement. This woman unnerved her. “The increase of attacks by the Sleepers is likely related to the prophecies, so it would not surprise me to see Lord Nerevar rise again in this age. However, there are also many signs that you do not meet. There are two particular versions of the prophecies that have long been lost to us but I know that your Dissident Priests hold copies of them. Seek them out and bring them back to me. Only by doing so can I answer the question that still burns so on your lips.”

“We’ll get these to you, as soon as we can.” Gilyan replied.

“Go now, there is much to do and I have much to consider.” Nibani added, effectively dismissing them.

They stood to leave but Nibani’s hand suddenly darted from her side and caught Syl’s arm with surprising strength. “Wait!”

Syl looked at her with horror as she took her palm in her hands and held her firmly. Gilyan turned and stared, unable to understand what was going on.

“You have tampered with magicks not many can handle.” She pulled her so close that their noses were practically touching. All Syl wanted to do was push the crazed woman from her but the intensity in her eyes kept her still but trembling. “They have changed you. Something has awoken within you.”

She placed her bony hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. Slowly, Syl felt her hand growing warmer. At first it was soothing but it soon grew uncomfortable and before she knew it felt as though her hand was searing her skin. She cried out in pain and pushed the woman back. Gilyan rushed to Syl’s side and pulled her arms away from her face to examine the damage. Nibani had left a searing white hot hand print on Syl’s forehead which continued to send pain coursing through Syl’s body.

“What did you do to her?!” Gilyan shouted at the wise woman who sat across the tent once again cross-legged as if nothing had happened.

“I have freed her.” She replied in a calm voice.


	24. Unleashed

Gilyan turned back to Syl who was still desperately clutching her head, biting back further screams. He felt useless as he watched on with horror. Slowly, Syl began to regain control until she was finally able to cast a soothing healing spell. Her breathing calmed to a reasonable pace and Gilyan relaxed.

“What… What just happened?”

“The voices you hear, you’ll understand them now. You have a raw power within you, I gave you access to it. I trust you’ll use it wisely.”

Syl stared at her dumb-founded. “How did you know…?”

The wise woman didn’t answer and instead closed her eyes and smiled.

“Let’s get out of here, please.” Syl asked Gilyan.

He nodded and they both set about casting a transportation spell which took each of them to the nearest Imperial fort in Gnisis. From there, Gilyan commissioned a Silt Strider to Balmora. The going was slow and experience very new to Syl, but she was still too shook up to enjoy the novelty of it. The large, long-legged creature rested for an hour at the small strider dock in Ald’Ruhn before carrying on with the journey through the night. They arrived at early dawn the next day and headed straight for Caius’ bedsit. Syl had reassured Gilyan that she was feeling much better since having stopped for food and drink in the Redoran town. They had spoken very little since leaving the Ashlands and even less of what had happened with the wise woman. Syl was thankful for this.

They knocked on the door and waited patiently for an owl-eyed Caius to let them in.

“You’re here early.” He shuffled back to his bed and sat down as they took their seats at the dinner table. “How did it go?”

Syl shot him a dangerous look. “I’m the Nerevarine?!”

He missed the intonation. “Are you?”

“No! I’m not!”

“We are the ones who may become the Nerevarine.” Gilyan clarified.

“Huh. Interesting.” The Spymaster was clearly still half asleep and not quite with the conversation yet.

“We need to track down copies of the Nerevarine prophecies. Nibani Maesa believes the Dissident Priests to be our best bet.”

He nodded, slowly processing the information. “Right. Well, Mehra would be the person to go to, but I have more urgent business for you Gilyan. There’ve been reports of a Sixth House base near Gnaar Mok and I need you to take care of that. Maybe… If you feel ready, Syl you could seek out our informant Mehra Milo and chase down these um… prophesies.”

Syl looked up grinning. “I’m free?”

“Yes, yes. Just stay out of trouble.”

She turned her grin onto Gilyan who smiled back, though not half as enthusiastically as usual. “Look for her in the library in the Hall of Wisdom. Don’t ask around for her, or people might get suspicious. She should be easy to spot anyway. Look for a woman with fiery red hair.” Syl nodded. “Last time I saw her she said that she though she was being watched, so if things have gone wrong she’ll have left a message under the code of Amaya in her chambers.”

“And by Azura, please stay safe.” Caius added.

Syl laughed as she headed for the door. “Not if I can help it!”

She was in an unexplainable good mood on this new day and left them to discuss the details of their Gilyan’s assignment alone before they could dampen her spirits. Syl headed for the Mage’s Guild, wondering how Fimmion had been getting along with his studies in her absence. However as soon as she had stepped into the guild hall, she wished she hadn’t been so curious.

The sounds of the argument taking place in the main hall reached her almost immediately. Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to preserve her current good disposition, she headed down the stairs. She found Fim standing in between the two most troublesome mages she had ever met, Ajira and Galbedir. The Khajiit and the Wood Elf were yelling and pointing at each other over Fimmion’s head whilst Ranis tried to referee the out of control argument. All the other mages in the vicinity had stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfold.

Syl waited patiently hoping it would soon draw to a close, but it didn’t honestly seem to be heading that way any time soon. Facing the inevitable, Syl stepped forward into the chaos and went to stand beside her apprentice.

“Will someone PLEASE tell what is going in here?!” She shouted above everyone else.

The shock of suddenly noticing the new arrival, silenced everyone for a brief moment before they all resumed the same level of yelling.

“ENOUGH!” Ranis bellowed. 

This time they were quiet. Satisfied, she turned to Fimmion and Syl.

“I assigned your… apprentice to work under Ajira while you were gone and it would seem he got caught up in her and Galbedir’s antics.” The Dunmer woman explained.

“She had him steal my most precious soul gem!” Glabedir blurted out.

“Well, Glabedir stole Ajira’s papers!” The Khajiit retorted.

Seeing that another shouting match was about to erupt, Syl pulled Fimmion out of the fray.

“Well, it’s nothing that concerns Fimmion. I’ll have him resume independent study right away. It’ll be best if he’s kept out of their way”

Ranis watched her with a dangerous look in her eye which Syl met with her own.

“Very well.” Ranis finally declared. “What of Bereloth?”

“He agreed to join our ranks the next time he’s in town.”

She couldn’t hide her amazement. “Is that so, Conjurer? Well, I’ll look forward to hearing from him.”

Syl smiled as graciously as she could before turning and dragging Fim away by the arm. They headed for the quiet study area in the guild hall where Syl had set up her own space.

“Wow, you have a gift for timing!” He exclaimed when they were finally alone.

Syl smiled. “And you have a gift for getting into trouble.”

Fim settled back in a chair at her desk and put on an air of pride and nonchalance. “Well, you either have it or you don’t. But what have you been up to? It feels like you’ve been gone for aaages!”

“We headed north with Gilyan. There was some information we needed to get from the locals in the Ashlands.”

“You went to visit ashlanders?!”

“It was an… interesting experience.”


	25. Results

“Syl’Rahna.”

She looked up to find Sharn standing a few desks away, wearing her usual scowl.

“Yes?”

The orc looked from the Dunmer to her little apprentice who had the sense to look away.

“Come with me.”

Syl smiled at Fim before following the orc up the stairs.

“What’s this about?”

“I think I figured out what’s wrong with you.” She said bluntly.

“You have?!”

“We’re just going to test my theory.” Sharn twisted her face into an ugly grin.

They headed out onto the streets and headed to the northern part of town. They started to climb the steps built into the side of the hill which led up to the Temple when Syl began to think something was amiss.

“Sharn, you’re surely not taking me to the Temple are you?”

The orc’s laugh was deep and gruff. “It’s the only goddamn place I could think of. I wasn’t about to take you back to an ancestral tomb, was I? Although, it would have been the better option.”

Syl shuddered at the thought of going through an ordeal like that again. She hated feeling fear. It was one of the reasons she liked and missed her sheltered life at the University. They walked straight into the Temple and Sharn ignored the awkward glances she got from the priests and worshippers inside. It would seem that her face was well-known.

“Now, approach the ash pit.” She gestured to the large hollow in the middle of the temple floor.

Upon further examination, Syl noticed that the ash which filled the hollow was littered with skulls and bones. She read about these offering centres when reading about the Tribunal. These ash pits filled with the cremated dead were sacred and some even believed them to be oracles for those who had passed on.

Syl spared Sharn one more dubious look before doing as she said. Syl was two steps away from the edge of the pit when it happened.

The whispers returned.

Her gut reaction sent her flying back against the wall, breathing heavily. Her response drew a couple of curious stares from people around the hall but they soon resumed their prayers. Syl turned to Sharn, eyes wide with horror.

“What is it?!”

Sharn smiled triumphantly. “You can speak with the dead, Syl’Rahna.”

“What?!” Syl struggled to get her breathing back in check.

Sharn dropped her voice to a whisper but it didn’t dull the excitement in it. “It’s not common, but it’s happened before. A mage taps into a source that is out of the reach of most and they are changed. They can hear the voices of the dead. Summon them. Control them.”

Syl frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Sharn sighed out of exasperation. “You mention you’d toyed with necromancy in the past. Something you did back then must have left some residual power in you. There are only a few records of mages who’ve suffered it but I’m sure that’s what it is!”

Syl frowned at her words and was afraid to ask her question. “Why do you say suffered?”

The orc pulled back. “My readings revealed that… most mages have their lifespan reduced as a result of it. The power’s very strong and it tends to overwhelm them eventually…”

“Are you saying that I’m dying?”

“No! Of course, not. You’re my new project!”

Syl wondered whether she should find that reassuring or not.

“Syl’Rahna, I will find a way around this. Just as long as you promise to cooperate.”

She nodded slowly, feeling another headache coming on. Why was all this happening now?

“I… I visited a wise woman. She said she… freed me. She said I should be able to understand them now. The voices.”

“Hmm. Try approaching the pit again. See for yourself.”

Syl grimaced at the idea but thought twice about it when the orc scowled at her.

“Alright.”

Syl stood away from the wall and once again tentatively approached the pit, this time ignoring the urge to turn her back and run when she heard the whispers. 

The whispers grew louder the closer she got, but this time the volume was manageable. She could distinguish several different voices. Slowly words began to make themselves clear. She closed her eyes to concentrate on them. The sentences began to form in her mind. There were so many conversations going on in her mind. She struggled to comprehend the exchanges. She then realised they were trying to speak to her.


	26. City of a God

“Feel like accompanying me to Vivec?”

Fimmion looked up from his book. “Vivec?!”

Syl nodded. “I have to make a trip to the High Fane.”

He frowned. “Why do you have to go there?”

“I’m meeting someone there. Do you want to come or not?”

“Of course!” He jumped to his feet. “Have you ever been?”

“No, I hear it’s quite a sight though.”

“It’s more than a sight! It’s enough to convert any non-believer.”

“Hmph, I highly doubt that.”

They asked the resident Guild Guide to transport them to the city and appeared in the Vivec guildhall a few moments later. Fimmion bounced off ahead and guided her through the corridors of the hall and out into an indoor plaza.

“This is the Foreign Quarter. Outlanders are welcome here. Each of the Great Houses has its own canton in Vivec as well.” Fimmion explained.

He led her out of the plaza onto a wide balcony which ran the way around the square building. The sight that awaited Syl was baffling. Large pyramid like buildings built into the water rose up to the South, each identical to the other, differentiated only by their colourful banners. In the distance she could make out a larger silhouette and immediately knew that was where they were heading. Fimmion took Syl across the connecting bridges, navigating around each of the cantons with experience. It longer than she had anticipated reaching the High Fane and it almost felt as if it was an achievement; she would have seriously struggled without Fimmion as a guide.

Although she had read about this place in her research into the self-made god, Vivec, she still caught her breath at the sight of the Ministry of Truth hanging weightily in the sky above the peaks of the High Fane. The great rock had been hollowed out and since its appearance in this world, had been used as headquarters for investigations into heretical activities. She had read many horror stories about the punishments carried out up there and she shivered at the thought of visiting such a place.

“And over there is Vivec’s umm… House?” Fim tried to clarify.

Syl looked beyond the pale stone peaks of the High Fane and noticed the even grander and larger canton which was supposed to be the god’s abode. She scoffed at the extravagance of this particular district. It had several tiers each overflowing with water creating an eternal cascade down the side of the edifice.

“And that’s the way to the Hall of Wisdom?” She asked, feeling slightly offended by the grandeur of the entire city.

He nodded. “I’ll let you get on with your business and I’ll meet you back at the guildhall when you’re done.”

“It’s a plan.”

Syl watched the young boy dart away and round the corner and smiled. She was growing fond of his enthusiasm. He reminded her a little of puppy. Loyal and bloody annoying.

She straightened her robes before proceeding through the guarded door to the Hall of Wisdom which sat at the base of the High Fane. The corridor was empty except for the blue and gold armoured guard who watched her every move through the slits in his mask. She carried on, ignoring the suspicious stares and headed straight for the library where she expected to find Mehra.

The library itself was surprisingly small and filled with a relatively small selection of books all advocating the message of the Tribunal. Syl decided to judge the temple further for not allowing their followers to read texts with alternative messages. She turned her attention back to seeking out the Dunmer woman. She tried to act as casual as possible, wandering around, examining random books here and there. None of the scholars present had the distinctive red hair Gilyan had described.

She eventually found a door leading to the librarians’ residences and slipped through it quietly. Down the corridor to the left she found a door with a name plate which read ‘Mehra Milo’. She knocked as discreetly as possible and waited for a response. When eventually no one came to the door, Syl looked around checking she was alone before placing her hand on the lock casting a simple unlock spell. She heard the distinctive opening click and let herself inside.

The room was simply furnished but the priestess had attempted to make it a little warmer with a patterned bed cover. Otherwise, the place was muted and humble. Syl couldn’t see anything that might be out place and began to wonder whether Mehra had simply gone for a walk and would just be back in a moment. Deciding it was best to give it time before worrying Caius, she turned and headed for the door. On her way out she noticed a letter on the dressing table propped up against a small vial.

When she saw that the letter was addressed to ‘Amaya’, Syl’s heart sank. Something had gone wrong. As she read the note her mind raced ahead of her deciphering the true meaning and intention behind Milo’s words.

She had been taken to the Ministry of Truth.

“By Azura, can nothing ever be simple?” She softly cursed.

She turned her attention back to the vial on the dresser and picked it up. After uncorking it and taking a whiff of the blue sticky liquid inside, she quickly identified it as a levitation potion. 

Was she expected to go after the librarian’s rescue? If she managed to pull it off, she’d be proving a point. If she failed, she’d only be reinforcing Caius’ suspicions that she wasn’t ready. She was inclined to follow her initiative. She always had and had never hesitated even in the light of harsh consequences. Luckily, it had always paid out. Nonetheless, her confidence had received a hard blow these past few days and she wasn’t too sure if she wanted to risk the freedom she had only just regained.


	27. Breaking The Rules

The sudden knock at the door made her jump.

“Mehra? It’s me. Let me in.”

Her eyes darted to the door handle. It was unlocked. As if following her train of thought, the mysterious person went to open the door. Her reflexes took over and before she knew it she was flat against the wall and cloaked in an invisibility spell she’d mastered at the young age of 12.

The stranger entered. It was a young male Dunmer dressed in robes which indicated his affiliation with the Temple. She stilled her breathing as his eyes passed over her hidden form.

“Damnit!” He mustered under his breath.

He noticed the coded message that she had dropped by the drawers in her rush and went to pick it up. Syl watched him carefully as he read the words seemingly confused. His gaze lifted from the page and after a tense moment he cursed again.

“Mehra, what have you gotten yourself into?!”

“What do you know?”

The young priest shrieked as she dropped the illusion and stepped towards him. Before he could scream for help she sent a telekinetic push across the room which slammed the door shut before his eyes and cast a silencing spell which stifled his fearful outburst. Realising- but not regretting- that she was probably terrifying the man a little excessively she relinquished the silencing spell she had placed on him.

“Apologies, but I do not have time for games. Do you know what Milo’s words mean?” She asked bluntly.

His eyes full of horror he debated how best to answer. “Maybe... Yes? I don’t know! She... I knew that they were watching her...”

“Did they take her to the Ministry of Truth?”

“Probably... Yes.” His eyes dropped to the ground and Syl began to recognise signs of remorse on his face,

She softened her tone. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tul. I am... I... Mehra was my... My girlfriend. Well, we went out. I liked her. I was trying to look out for her... Who you are?”

Syl smiled. “You really don’t need to know that. All you need to do right now is help me get into the Ministry of Truth.”

His eyes stretched wide. “WHAT? I can’t help you do that! There’s very little chance I could get in there myself... I don’t understand why you’d want to... Unless... You really are planning to help Mehra...?”

“I am. And I have even slimmer chances of success without your help, so you’re going to strap on a pair and help me break her out. You know the inner working of these things and I don’t. You want to help her, don’t you?”

Tul hesitated. “... Yes. Alright. I’ll help you. Just let me think. “ He began to pace the small room. “We’ll need to levitate up to the Ministry and somehow convince the guards to let us in... Maybe a bribe-“

“I’ll deal with the convincing.”

“If you say so. Then we’ll have to make our way through the corridors without being questioned.”

“Again, I’ll take care of that.”

“I’ve been once before... I think I can navigate us to the holding cells... From there, we’d just have to find Mehra and... They won’t let us out the front door so... We’ll have to teleport.”

Syl frowned. “You can teleport out of there? Then how do they stop the heretics escaping?”

“They stunt their magicka.”

“Ah...” Syl shivered at the thought.

She’d studied the practice of stunting a person’s magicka to the point that they could not access the flow of magic. The more experienced the patient was in the arts of magicka, the more painful it was. It was also a very difficult process to reverse. It was an experience she hoped never to go through.

“The only way Mehra would be able to teleport out with us is through the use of a scroll. The external aide won’t be affected by the restraints they’ll have put on her... From there the best thing would just be to get as far away from this place as possible before they actually realise what’s happened.”

“Which also means we’d best not kill anyone on the way.”

“I... Uh... The thought hadn’t crossed my mind...”

Syl shrugged. “If they spot us and we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us.” His look of horror and naivety amused her some more. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on getting spotted.”

Tul sat heavily on the bed and let his head fall into his hands.

“I don’t think I can do this...”

“You don’t have much choice as far as I’m concerned. I apologise for that, but I have a job to do and you can damn well be sure that I’m going to do it and do it right.”

Tough love seemed to work a treat on the priest. He nodded and stood up, back straight.

“Alright. I’ll go get an Intervention scroll and I’ll meet you under the rock after the sun goes down in an hour.”


	28. A Matter of Sneaking

Getting past the guards on the outside wasn’t a problem. Tul strode up to them with confidence as Syl had instructed and presented his forged permission letter. When the guard on duty began to ask too many questions, Syl stepped forward and cast a simple charm spell to help ease the suspicions. The problems began after that. Holding an effective invisibility spell on both herself and Tul was quite demanding and not in any way helped by the priest finding himself baffled by the number of twists and turns in the passages which ran through the rock. Nonetheless, just when Syl thought she’d finally lose her patience with the nervous young man, he came through and found the door to the holding cells.

The door was wide open and they crept up to it with caution even under the cloaking spells. The cavern beyond had guards posted every five metres leaving no corner unsupervised. Several prisoners had been brought out of their closed off cells to eat around a sizeable fire in the middle of the open space.

There was also wooden concourse which led from the door step and provided a bird’s eye view of the floor below. On the concourse, Syl spotted a desk and wooden pin board where a list of prisoners and their cell numbers were posted for the guards’ benefit. As Syl moved towards this board to find the appropriate cell, she felt Tul tug at her sleeve.

“How on earth are we going to get to Mehra? They’re watching unrelentlessly...”

Syl didn’t answer for a while. “You’re going to distract them.”

“What?!” His hushed voice pushed the barriers to the point that she worried someone might have heard him.

“You’ll stay here. It shouldn’t take me long to get to the board and to the cells. I want you to wait over there in the shadows and when you’ve counted to three hundred I want you to create as much noise as you can. I’ll use the distraction and slip into Mehra’s cell. You then teleport out of here before they catch you.”

He looked uncertain but nodded nonetheless.

“Good. Now give me the scroll.”

She took the scroll from his shaking hands and waited until he was hidden away before transferring the strength she’d been putting into supporting his cover into her own spell. Taking one last breath she crept into the cavern.

She moved quickly with a light step across the wooden concourse over to the pin board. Her eyes darted over the board looking for the priestess’ name.

Cell VII.

Syl moved straight for the stairs knowing that Tul would be getting ready to play his part. She had barely set her foot on the ground when she heard him burst out into a series of unintelligible shouts and hollers just outside the door. Cursing him for his impatience she broke into a sprint across the cavern and opened the door using another spell. Quickly, making sure that the guard’s attention was temporally distracted by the unexpected turmoil she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. She took no risks either and used a fire spell the weld the metal lock shut.

She turned her attention to the cell and dropped her invisibility spell. A small Dunmer figure rose from the far corner of the cell and slowly stalked over to her.

“Mehra Milo?”

The possibility that she had the wrong cell suddenly crossed her mind and she panicked her for a split second.

“Yes? Did Caius send you?” The woman asked hopefully.

Syl nodded. “We need to get you out of here without delay. Take this scroll.”

Mehra nodded. “Thank you. Listen, tell Caius that I’ve gone to hide with the Dissident Priests. If you need to find me go to the Ebonheart docks and look for a small Imperial fishing boat named the Zarinna. Ask them to take you fishing in that lovely spot Mehra told you about and they will bring you to us.”

“I’ll remember.”

As eager to get out as Syl was, the red headed woman stepped back and unfurled the scroll and read the words aloud until she was swallowed in a blaze of white flames which left nothing behind. Satisfied. Syl then cast her own spell and recalled herself to the base of the temple of Vivec.

No one would know where she’d been and she’d be free to walk back to the Foreign Quarter to meet Fimmion. Her plan had gone well.


	29. Disease

Syl brought her fist up to knock on Caius’ door when it was wrenched open by a tall, beautiful Dunmer woman with a large bundle of cloth tucked under her arm. She acknowledged Syl with a polite nod of the head before bidding the Spymaster farewell and striding out the door with more grace than one would expect from a woman adorned head to toe in armour.

Syl’Rahna stood there, surprised by the woman’s appearance at Caius’ door.

“You can come in now.” The Imperial called from within the apartment.

“Another Blade?” She asked as she closed the door behind her, noting the Spymaster’s grave expression.

“No. That was one of Divath Fyr’s daughters... Gilyan ran into a Sixth House priest on his last assignment... Apparently with his dying breath he cursed Gilyan with Corprus...”

Syl had heard the disease mentioned before around the Mage’s Guild during her time here. It seemed to be the reason Morrowind was being quarantined. The disease was being carried on the ash storms and was infecting every living thing in sight. The rate at which it was spreading was becoming extremely worrying considering a cure had still not been found. Most of the healers in the guild were therefore dedicating their studies to the subject but so far to no avail.

“Where is he now?”

“He left town about an hour ago... His plan was to set up camp to the north until my informants could turn something up. Lucky for him, the Blades work fast and I found that Divath Fyr has recently discovered the closest thing to a cure that we have so far. His daughter came around to invite Gilyan to a meeting with him in exchange for a particular artefact I had in my possession.”

“And where is this man?”

“Divath Fyr is a Telvanni wizard. He set up his household on an island south west of Sadrith Mora.”

“Sadrith Mora? That’s miles away! Even if Gilyan travels by boat the disease will have spread through his entire body... No one will let him on their ship.”

Caius sighed hopelessly. “He has no choice.”

Syl’s temper flared. “That’s not good enough! The man caught this bloody disease doing a job YOU gave him.”

“It was risk he was aware of.” He replied calmly, seemingly unaffected by her outburst.

“If you won’t help him, I will.”

“Syl’Rahna, don’t be reckless. Helping him would put you at harm’s risk. Corprus is extremely contagious.”

She shrugged and curled her lips into a poisonous smile. “Then I guess you’ll never find out which one of us was meant to be the Nerevarine.”

Before he could retort, Syl transported to the Temple on the north side of town. From here she ran out of town following the road north hoping that Gilyan hadn’t set up camp too far from the path. She wasn’t too sure why she had taken Caius’ lack of action to heart considering she had never felt that strongly about Gilyan; his cockiness was hard to look past. Nonetheless, for some reason she had her heart set on helping him find a cure. Deep down she knew she was relying on him to stay alive because he was the only one who seemed to understand the situation she was in. He had been so patient with her and willing to look out for her at every turn. No matter how much she wanted to deny it and convince herself she could do it alone, she was thankful there had been someone there.

The sun was setting when Syl spotted his campsite a couple of leagues off the roadside. The Dunmer was hunched over near a makeshift fire. As she approached him she noticed that he was bandaging his leg with a long strip of cloth.

“Do you need help with that?”

The sound of her voice made him jump. He turned around and smiled when he recognised her. His face spoke a different story though. His skin was grey and blotches of grey and brown marred his features.

“You might not want to come too close.”

She hesitated before ignoring him. “I’ll be fine.”

She came and sat down beside him and reached out towards his bandaged leg but he jumped backwards.

“Don’t touch me! You mustn’t get infected.”

“Gilyan, it’s fine. I’ll use magic to protect myself.”

He frowned. “Is that enough?”

She nodded with a small smile.

Relaxing a little he sat back down. “I was just trying to cover up the worst of it...”

“May I see?”

His haggard eyes watched her for a moment. The warm fire which usually blazed within his eyes had been extinguished and his gaze was weak and hollow. It pained her to see him like this. Eventually he nodded and allowed her to unravel the cloth to expose his leg.

The flesh beneath the cloth was raw. There was fresh blood and puss oozing out of the worst areas. With everything she had heard about the disease, she had still not been prepared for this. If this was what happened within a few hours, how were they supposed to reach Tel Fyr in time?


	30. Race Against Time

“I could really use some rest...”

“We don’t have time Gilyan. Come on.” She offered him her arm to lean on as he pulled himself up to a standing position. “The more you rest, the weaker you’ll get.”

She placed her hand on his chest and cast a healing spell which seemed to revive the colour in his skin a little.

He groaned with relief. “That helps with the pain, thank you.”

“It won’t last long, so let me know when you need another dose.”

She moved away from him and gathered his few possessions into his pack before loading it on her shoulder.

“Let me carry that.” He said, walking towards her.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Put your arm around me.”

He looked taken aback by her demand but then couldn’t help but grin in his usual way.

Syl rolled her eyes. “I’m going to transport us out of here.”

“Oh, alright.” His grin faded to a simple smile. “Are you sure you won’t be at risk...?”

Their bodies were pressed up close as she prepared to cast the spell. She looked up at him and gave him an honest answer. “No.”

They appeared seconds later in Ebonheart. Gilyan still seemed to be reeling from her blunt answer but couldn’t find anything to say. Syl hoped he was just being silently thankful.

They strode off towards the docks, keeping out of people’s way so that no one would be alarmed by his condition. As they approached the docks she cast an invigorating spell to give him the strength to stand tall and unaided.

“If anyone asks, you have a skin condition.” Syl whispered to him as they climbed onto the next ship heading east.

Syl bought them passage to Sadrith Mora in a private cabin below deck and while the price was steep, it was the best choice. They were left unbothered by other passengers and crew and had their meals delivered straight to the door. She spent most of the journey attenuating his pain and bandaging the worst areas of his body while he lay there in restless, broken sleep.

His strength had considerably diminished by the time they reached their destination and Syl struggled to support his weight as they descended the ship’s gangplank to the dock. They stood on the dock for a while whilst Syl calculated their options. She watched the fishing boats, judging their owners considering which would be their best bet.

Finally, having chosen her target, they approached the small fishing boat and negotiated a fair price for carrying them south to the Divath Fyr’s island. The fisherman who agreed to Syl’s generous offer took one look at Gilyan and surreptitiously chose to ignore his instincts, which she was thankful for.

They reached Tel Fyr half an hour later but Syl found Gilyan was already slipping in and out of consciousness so she hurried him inside paying no attention to manners when entering a stranger’s home.

Divath Fyr had set himself up in an organic mushroom tower as most of the Telvanni did on Morrowind. Syl had seen these in passing the past few weeks and had wondered about their insides but she was much too preoccupied to notice the intricacies of architecture at this moment in time.

The place seemed empty and with no one around to point to the master, Syl followed her instinct and just headed upstairs. The hollow mushroom spiralled upwards for what seemed like forever as Gilyan strained to stay awake with his weight on her shoulders. As they turned what seemed to be the final corner of upwards tunnel they came face to face with a tall and stern mer who seemed unperturbed by two strangers in his house.

“Is this Gilyan Goren?”

Syl nodded.

“Hm... The disease is quite far along... Probably not much I can do but I always welcome new test subjects. There’s a room down there to the left. Settle him there and I’ll bring the cure.”

She hesitated for a moment but his dismissive attitude made her move on down the corridor wordlessly. As they reached the bedroom, Gilyan reached the end of strength collapsed to floor coughing up blood. Syl knelt down beside him and cast another healing spell, when the Telvanni stepped back into the room.

“Oh there’s no use in doing that. Help me put him on the bed.”

Still speechless and concerned for Gilyan she hooked his arm around her and levered him up onto the single bed with Divath’s help.

“One more thing before I give him my cure, you have to be aware that it hasn’t exactly been very successful on my last few test subjects.”

“What do you mean?” Syl turned on him with anger flaring in her eyes. “How unsuccessful?”

“Well... It’s... Terminated the last few...”

“You mean it doesn’t work?!”

“Not at all! It works. The symptoms completely dissipate. The patients just haven’t seemed to survive more than an hour after ingestion.”

Syl took in the implications of what he had just told her. After a long pause she finally asked, “What alternatives does he have?”

Gilyan started coughing again drawing their attention back to the bed. “At this point... None. If I don’t give him the cure in the next couple of minutes the disease will continue to spread to his brain and he will become a mindless flesh eating monster.”

Syl continued to watch her friend’s tortured face and considered that she might lose him in the next few moments. The thought frightened her more than she thought it would. She had undeniably become attached to him and was not ready to let go. Panic started to overcome her when Divath demanded that she make her choice now.

“Give him the cure.”

The older Dunmer stepped forward and uncorked the small vial in his hand and let the thick black liquid trickle down Gilyan’s throat. After he had made sure that it had all been swallowed he turned to leave the room.

“Please, make yourself at home.”


	31. Immune

When Gilyan woke a day later, Syl was asleep on the floor with her head resting on the bed next to his pillow. He raised his hands to his face and found his skin to be perfectly smooth and upon expecting his hands and arms found that all the unnatural blotches were gone along with the pain in his entire body.

He turned onto his side and placed his hand on her head. Startled by his touch, Syl awoke.

“You look really uncomfortable.”

She smiled weakly. “And you look much better.”

“Thanks to you... You risked a lot to get me here.”

“I told you not to worry about that.”

His hand slid down to her cheek as they sat there in perfect silence. Syl stomach seized, she was not used to this.

“I take it worked then.” Divath announced from the doorway. “Excellent!”

Gilyan dropped his hand turned to look up at the man. “I suppose I should thank you too.”

“I suppose you should. Let me have a look at you.”

Syl sat on the bed while the old Telvanni examined the healthy young man before him.

“Hm. It seems all the symptoms have gone. That’s good. You still have the disease, of course.”

“How? You said the symptoms were all gone.” Syl demanded quite abruptly.

“It’s not a bad thing. The Corprus disease actually raises a person’s immunity against all diseases and you, my friend, have now gained those benefits. I wonder whether I have finally perfected the serum after all.”

“Immune? Well, I’m sure that’ll come in handy.” Gilyan turned and gave Syl a cheeky wink.

Syl stood. “If there is nothing more that you need from us, we must bid you farewell.”

“So soon? Well, if you must. Please do drop in if you find the time. I believe the pair of you may enjoy a visit in my Corprusarium.”

“Corprusarium?”

“Yes. Where all the inmates or patients, as you call them, are kept.”

Syl was more than a little put off by the idea of going to such a place, so she forced a polite smile. Such strange thing to suggest.

***

“As he fell to the ground he muttered some sort of curse and... Smiled, I think. He smiled up at me when he did it. And then he died. I’ve been kicking myself for not having sliced his head off in the first place. Foul creatures. I hope never to see the inside a Sixth House den again. The corpses... The mutilation-“

“I get the picture.” Syl said after listening to his stomach-churning story about what happened that day.

He smiled. “I want to say thank you again.”

Syl looked down at her pint. They had found themselves a table in a far corner of The Eight Plates for a healthy meal and a drink to warm the body. After the trauma of the past couple of days, the pair welcomed it.

“I told you it’s fine.”

For a moment he seemed to drop the subject and Syl thought it might be safe to look up again without the fear of blushing but he wasn’t ready to move on just yet.

“I still don’t understand how you weren’t affected by it. Thinking about it, I’ve never heard of any magic which could protect a person from Corprus.”

“It’s a, uh, very rare form of Restoration. It’s not really common knowledge to most mages...”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Once they finished their drinks, Gilyan walked with Syl down the corridor to her room. She stopped by the door and turned to say goodnight but found that he was much closer than she had estimated. In fact, he was so close that their noses would have been touching if she had been an inch taller. The alcohol had really taken a toll on her awareness. She swayed slightly, and he extended an arm to support her.

His face grew stern again. “Why did you really put yourself at that much risk for me?”

“What do you mean?” She desperately tried to avoid his intense stare.

He came even closer to her, prompting her to try to take an involuntary step back. Unfortunately, the wall behind her stopped her from evading the awkward situation. It also lent itself quite well to the task of holding her up, so she was able to let go of his arm.

“No one just risks so much for another person they only known for a few months.”

“I did.”

“It’s insane.”

“So am I.”

He grinned and before he could say another word she had ducked and slipped through the doorway into her room and muttered a goodnight before closing the door abruptly behind her.

“Goodnight, Syl.”


	32. Process of Elimination

“I sent an operative to recover the documents Maesa asked for. I would like to thank you again, Syl’Rahna, for ensuring Mehra was safe. She’s a good friend and she didn’t deserve to be locked up.”

“Besides, the information she holds about the Temple is invaluable.” Gilyan added.

Syl accepted the praise with a small nod. Her head was thumping this morning and she wasn’t in the mood to be polite.

Caius passed the leather binder across the table. “Take them back to the ashlanders and see what else they can tell you about the Nerevarine. I want to know if either of you really are the one.”

“Ugh.”

“Something wrong, Syl?”

Not noticing that the sound had slipped passed her lips, she looked up surprised. “No, not all...”

***

“You have Corprus.”

“Excuse me?”

They had barely stepped into the wise woman’s hut when she spoke.

“You boy have the disease... Enlighten me.”

Gilyan, still a little taken aback, settled himself in front of Nibani Maesa who sat cross-legged on the floor, before plunging into his account of what had happened. She listened, taking in all the information about the curse and the makeshift cure, all the time wearing a neutral expression. Syl began to wonder whether she was paying any attention at all when she finally spoke up.

“Fascinating. I suppose you also know that the Nerevarine, as dictated by the prophecies you brought me, is immune to bodily curses as you are now?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement meant to indicate that Gilyan rather Syl was the Nerevarine. Syl, however, felt no relief.

“So is this a... criteria for being the incarnate?” She asked tentatively.

“So to speak.”

Gilyan turned to face her, a sad look on his face. “I suppose that settles it then.”

“Far from it.” Nibani interrupted.

Syl flinched. “My early investigations in... alternative forms of magic left behind some traces. Traces of immunity.”

“Necromancy?”

She wasn’t sure whether his tone was accusatory. She nodded silently. His reaction turned her stomach upside down as he looked away disapprovingly turned back to the wise woman. A small voice inside her head whispered that she shouldn’t care. He’s one of so many who think necromancy is something to be feared and shunned and she didn’t care what any of them thought. So why should he be any different?

“So what’s next?”

“One of you is the Nerevarine. Azura has shown me this much in a dream. The question is which one of you is it?”

“I suppose you have a way of knowing?” Syl inquired.

“That I do. You will travel to the Cavern of the Incarnate where Azura will apply the insignia of Nerevar to the true incarnate.”

“How do we reach it?”

“They say the eye of the needle lies in the teeth of the wind, the mouth of the cave lies in the skin of the pearl, the dream is the door and the star is the key. Together, you shan’t struggle too much with the riddle.”

“The Valley of the Wind.” Gilyan muttered and she nodded.

They left the hut in silence and headed east out of the camp both deep in thought. Eventually, Syl pulled him to a stop beside her, unable to bear the childish silent treatment he was imposing on her.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised. We’ve had this conversation before.”

His patience ran out and he rounded on her. “Yes, and you said you weren’t involved in that stuff!”

“That stuff? You don’t even know anything about it!”

“I know enough! That magic is dark and dangerous. Nothing good can from it!”

“Oh really? Because last time I checked you’re alive because of me. I couldn’t have done that without magic. That dark and dangerous magic.”

He threw his hands up and turned to walk away. Her anger flared. Flames licked at her fingers and she forced herself to take a deep breath. She crushed the fire in her hands and composed herself. She pushed that errant strand of hair out of her eyes and trudged off behind him.


	33. Nerevarine Revealed

The door stood tall in the rock face before them. Syl ran her hand over the carvings in the heavy metal door feeling for a handle. There was no apparent way of opening the door and Gilyan resorted to throwing his weight against it. It wasn’t until Syl had translated the symbols carved into the rock above the door that they understood how to open it.

“’The door is locked, and will not open. The star is the key.’ Hmm... It won’t open till sunset.”

Gilyan looked at her dubiously.

“Or if you’d prefer to keep throwing yourself at a stone wall, be my guest.” She turned and settled herself against the rock face, staring at the view this plateau provided of the valley below. Eventually Gilyan settled himself beside her. They sat in silence.

“So how did you get into it?”

Syl paused for so long he started to think she wouldn’t answer. “At first it was just out of curiosity. I picked up a few books and eventually I started trying a few things out. I’ve always been interested in combining different schools of magic. I believe that keeping them separate only limits a sorcerer’s ability. Anyway, I started to get some interesting results when applying some restorative techniques to old forgotten spells but then one of my ‘concerned’ colleagues ratted me out. The university shut me down and I was given a formal warning in exchange for them keeping quiet about it. I had too much potential that they hadn’t yet exploited.” She turned and gave him a sad sort of smile.

Slowly, their conversation drifted from Syl’s past life to Gilyan’s own history. It was pleasant sort of conversation, one that seemed to brush away any earlier tension. Syl began to relax anew around him and as he continued to regale her with tales of his childhood she felt her stomach turn once again. Why did she wish he’d shift his hand right a little to rest on her own? Why did she wish for him to forgive her stranger magical powers when she has never cared to hide them from anyone else? She considered bringing the topic up again. 

As his story turned to how he was recruited by Caius, they heard a heavy grinding of metal on rock nearby. They turned to find that the carved door had been pushed back and now revealed a dark corridor which led into the mountain before them.

Syl could feel her heart starting to race. She cast a light spell to guide their way into the cavern and led the way inside. They followed the long corridor for a few minutes before the darkness started to really press in on them. She started to question where this path would lead when Gilyan silently pointed to a faint glowing in the distance. They headed towards the light with more purpose than they had been walking with before.

The glowing slowly became strong enough that Syl could dismiss her own guiding light spell. Eventually they reached the end of the corridor and found that it opened up onto a large chamber dominated by a colossal golden statue of a primal god who Syl identified as Azura. The statue, also the source of light, depicted Azura sitting cross legged before them cupping her hands out in front of her with her head bowed towards them as they stood before them.

In her cupped hands a delicate gold ring hung inexplicably, spinning so fast that it was almost a blur. With a tentative look at his partner, Gilyan took a step forward and reached his hand out to touch the ring.

A line of ghosts appeared before him, blocking his way. His hand went straight to his sword.

“You are not the Neravarine. Touch not the Moon and Star.”

They faded away with that and left them once again alone, although Syl could feel them there. Almost as if they were simply an arm’s reach away.

With Gilyan’s guiding hand she stepped forward towards the golden statue. The hovering ring suddenly stopped spinning. Still, Syl could see that the ring bore an insignia depicting a moon and a star. She stretched out her hand and felt a faint tingling in her fingers which told her she had just broken through a magical barrier. Delicately, she plucked the ring out of its space and brought it to her right hand where she slipped it on her middle finger.

And then it happened. Something was unleashed within her. A hot sensation ran through her veins filling her entire body making her feel lightheaded. She closed her eyes and saw glimpses of places she’d never seen. A cavernous pit in the centre of a mountain, a city of jade, a room full of mechanical creatures, an empty grand hall with an imposing podium...

The images exploded in front of her eyes until everything faded to black and Syl felt unconsciousness creeping up on her.

“You have been chosen.”


	34. Family Reunion

She caught herself on the hands of the grand statue in front of her and righted herself. Gilyan strode up to her side and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder whilst she regained her bearings. She looked up at him with eyes glowing more fiercely than ever.

“Let’s go.” Syl led them out of the cave without another word gripping Gilyan’s hand as they left the cave behind and headed for the valley.

The dust at their feet became more animated the deeper they went into the valley, swirling and rising up around their calves slowly increasing in strength. The further north they headed the more apparent it became that they would not escape the approaching sandstorm that was stalking them. They increased their paced and searched desperately for a place to shelter whilst it passed. Syl pulled a scarf up over her nose and mouth as the wind started to pick up in speed and force. She had not experienced one of the Red Mountain’s notorious storms yet but from the stories she knew she wanted to be inside when it properly hit.

Gilyan glanced behind them and saw what appeared to be a huge clay red cloud wall towering up above them. He slipped his hand from Syl’s grasp and grabbed her arm as he upped the pace. The wind being channelled into the valley pushed them forward but also brought the encroaching storm dangerously close. The dust started to wrap itself around them obscuring their vision and just as the storm fell on them, Syl spotted a door in the rock face and launched them both forward it’s direction crashing through the locked door open with an explosive spell.

They tumbled forward down the stairs as the sandstorm forced them down the dark passage. Syl turned and in a show of power, threw the storm back out of the corridor slamming the door closed behind it. The magicka coursed through her veins stronger than it had since being on the island. She breathed heavily as she reeled from the return of her full power. The Moon and Star glinted proudly in the darkness, comfortable on her delicate fingers.

Syl sent a flame into each of the four corners of the room, illuminating a panting Gilyan and the stone plinths lining the walls. It took neither of them long to figure they had tumbled into an ancestral tomb. The urns on the plinths were beautifully painted with traditional Dunmer patterns and were surrounded by various other offering to the dead. Syl approached them to take a closer look at the engravings.

Palaven Dareleth

“Gilyan? Do you believe in coincidences?”

He approached another plinth.

Fevyn Dareleth

“I’ll be damned.”

Syl’s head snapped up as she caught the faint sound of a footstep deep within the burial tomb. Gilyan drew his sword instinctively and followed her down as she made her way towards the sound. The only light was the dim glow cast by Syl’s spell which left too many areas untouched, leaving Gilyan with the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

Syl controlled the whispers that called her name from the shadows and desperately sought out other clues to where the other mer was. Eventually she felt a cold breath on the back of her neck as a new voice joined the whispers and murmured her name. Syl spun on her heels ready to push the mer back but her breath caught in her throat as she saw a tall Dunmer woman holding Gilyan in a neck lock, fangs bared and eyes wild.

“Your name, mortal.” The woman hissed. “What is your name?”

Syl’s mind was tangled with the options open to her whilst this vampire kept her friend overpowered. “Syl’Rahnna... Dareleth.” The vampire’s eyes gleamed in the dim light and a twisted smile crept across her lips. Syl started reaching out to bring flames into existence. “Let him go. Now.”

“Syl, my swor-nghhhhhh!!!” The vampire tightened her grip on his neck.

“Quiet now boy, or you might get hurt.” Her voice was raspy and feral.

Syl cast another light spell to get a better look at her opponent, making the vampire flinch slightly but not enough. The woman was tall with long dark hair in disarray. Striking azure features framed her red eyes, which may have been beautiful had they not been tainted from malnourishment. All in all, Syl had the uneasy feeling they would both look fairly similar on a normal day.

“And your name, creature?” She asked with feigned confidence.

The vampire laughed. “Isis... Dareleth.”

Gilyan was trying to find a weakness in her grip but found none. Her supernatural strength unnerved him but he knew to keep his heart rate down to avoid incurring any further release of adrenaline in her body.

“Let him go, Isis.” Syl’s voice took on darker tones.

Isis paused as if in thought. “Fine. Only because you asked so nicely.” With that she let Gilyan sink to the floor, chocking for air.

Isis moved across the room and perched on the steps leading back up to the entrance chamber effectively blocking their only exit. She watched as Syl, still on guard, moved over to check on Gilyan who was just catching his breath and rubbing his neck.

“What the hell is an animal like you doing here? Waiting for unsuspecting travellers seeking refuge from the storm?” He asked his throat sore.

“Private business. I needed somewhere to hide and I recalled something from my past which led me here. My father is buried just over there.” She pointed to a large, regal dais behind them.

Gilyan got to his feet, his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve never met a vampire who stopped to chat. Even one who was family.”

“Ever met a vampire who needed a favour?”

Syl met the vampire’s challenging glare. “There’s something more though, isn’t there?”

Isis’ head cocked to the side. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not just a vampire. There’s more control in you. There’s something stronger...”

“My, my. Aren’t you perceptive?”

“What is it?” She pressed.

Isis smiled and considered sharing but eventually decided against it. “Maybe another time.”

“So what do you want?” Gilyan’s patience was running thin whether she was a standard run of the mill undead or not. He didn’t trust her.

“I’m looking for someone.”

Syl stepped in. “Who?”

“I’m not sure.” She laughed. “I need information from him. His trail led me here but, as you can see, it cost me a lot to get here. I’m afraid that if I don’t go now I’ll lose him but… I don’t exactly have a choice. At least I didn’t until you walked in. I’d make it worth your while”

Syl couldn’t stop staring at the vampire. Her curiosity was slowly getting the better of her and it didn’t help matters that her instincts seemed to lean towards trusting her. She wanted to know about her and she wanted to help but couldn’t quite explain why.

“Which way?”

“SYL! You’re not agreeing to this!” Gilyan snapped.

“Why not? I don’t see teeth marks in your neck.”

“How do you know this isn’t a trap?! She’s a god forsaken animal that you have no business making deals with!”

“If she tries to do anything, you’ll always have your sword.”

“No! I’m not agreeing to this.”

“You don’t have to. Only she does.” Isis added with amusement.

“Stay out of this, creature!”

She hissed in protest.

“Gilyan! Trust me, please.” Syl demanded.

He drew his sword and turned on the vampire. “I swear to the gods if you lie to us…”

“Put it away before you hurt yourself, child.”

Gilyan closed the gap in two strides to meet the vampire who straightened herself to full height. Her black attire hugged her slender curves and left her naval exposed. Her femininity failed to hide the strength and agility of an experienced fighter. Even in this weakened state she made for an imposing figure.

“Enough!” Syl stepped between the two mers, her back to Isis. “Gilyan, leave us.”

“You can’t be-“

“Now. Please.”

He gave her one last defiant stare before striding out of the room. Syl heard the distinct crash of metal on stone as he made his way up to the entrance chamber.

“Which way did they go then?”


	35. Making a Home Out of a Bad Situation

The journey to Balmora was made more tenuous by the uncomfortable silence. The storm had passed when dawn came and Isis had left before either of them awoke. Syl had kept quiet about her conversation with Isis aside from telling him the trail led south towards Balmora anyway. They stopped by the Ashlander camp on the way and spoke with the wise woman about the next step.

She had looked tired and frail when they arrived and so Syl had knelt by her bedside whist she recalled her latest visions of Azura. She had apparently been shown Syl’s ‘awakening’, as she called it, and was granted a clearer mind with which to interpret the fourth and fifth trials. Syl listened patiently as Nibani wheezed and coughed her way to the end of her understanding of the two following trials before biding her farewell and heading for Khuul.

Gilyan bartered a fair price for the pair of them and they then spent the journey pondering Nibani’s word in further silence. Syl contemplated broaching the topic of Gilyan’s discontent several times but then thought better of it. She had little patience for those too worried to take the necessary leap of faith in difficult situations and so thus she concluded she could only make matters worse by bringing it up. She settled for praying his mood passed. It didn’t.

“So you need to persuade every tribe and every House to accept you as the Neravarine?” Caius had been preoccupied when they had arrived and had up until now not paid enough attention to their tale to understand what was going on.

“Yes. ‘To unite the people as they once were’ I believe where her words. Without their support, there is very little chance of success. “

“And the remaining trials?”

“Hopefully will be revealed along the way. Nibani is working on them.”

Caius peered across the table at Syl who met his gaze. “I must admit, there is something different about you. You seem much more... accepting than I was expecting.”

Syl smiled and pushed ran her fingers through her hair. “The choice wasn’t mine.... But I’m finding my way around it.”

“I’m glad.” He stood and walked over to his bedside table where he had left his glass when they arrived. He took a sip. “Very well. Gilyan, I’ll leave you in charge of contacting the tribes and Syl’Rahna, you can handle the Houses. If you need any help, make use of our operatives. But on that note, I have something to announce. To both of you.” He turned to include Gilyan who had up till now been standing in further silence up against the wall. “I’ve been called back to Cyrodiil. My supervisors wish to see me.”

“How long will you be gone?” Syl was almost surprised to hear Gilyan’s voice again.

“Long enough for it to be an inconvenience. To be honest, I’m not sure but I don’t expect it to be a short trip.” His tone did not invite further questions.

“So what does this mean?”

“It means that you are being promoted to Guild Master. You’ll be in charge of all of our operatives on Vvardenfell. Don’t worry though, they each have their assignments for the time being so you can concentrate on aiding Syl. But, when it comes to it, I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’re by far the best candidate for the job Gilyan. Congratulations.” He got up and gave him a firm handshake.

Gilyan had the decency to look a little surprised but Syl could tell he knew he could do a better job than anyone else. “Thank you, sir.”

***  
Gilyan and Syl stepped out into the cool night air having said their formal goodbyes to Caius. Syl braced herself to further uncomfortable silence but was surprised when he broke out of his sulk. They had paused by the riverside to watch the sunset when he finally turned to look at her.

“I owe you an apology.”

Syl smiled, not daring to look at him.

“I got carried away. It’s your choice to help her and I shouldn’t have imposed my opinions on you.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” She asked turning to face him.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“About?”

“You.” 

She froze. No, please don’t. Please don’t put me in that position.

“We’ve been through a lot, Syl. You saved my life. I owe you more trust than I give you.”

This is it. He’s going to ruin everything.

“I just want you to know that I’ve really come to care about you. You’re a good… friend.”

Is that it?

“Oh sure, thanks.” She forced a smile, fighting a confusing disappointment.

Her reaction made him laugh. Laugh as a little sister might make her big brother laugh. “I won’t embarrass you anymore. Promise.” He leaned in to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

Her head swam and her vision went blurry. It was all she could do not to reach up and pull his lips down to hers. By the gods, what have I let myself into?

“Goodnight, Syl. I’ll let you know when I’m back. In the meantime, keep out of trouble. For me.” He turned and strode across the bridge.

Gilyan made his way back to the Guild to prepare for his return to the Urshilaku tribe, his planned starting point. When Syl had gone to visit him the following morning, having summoned up the courage to give him a partly sentimental goodbye, perhaps even tell him she’ll miss him, she found he had already left.


	36. Wolves

The scouts had spotted a man matching the description had been spotted north west of here just two days ago. His progress was slowing.

Syl had been tracking him for a day and a night before she met the scout. His tracks had first led her south of Balmora and for a while she had lost all sign of him and was about to give up when she met the scout. Afraid to lose the trail again, she didn’t stop to rest. She was nibbling on some salted strips of hound meat when she found the first body. The sight of it’s ripped out throat was enough to make her lose her appetite but the questions it had raised were enough to also make her forget how tired she was. It was no longer a question of who was she hunting, but what?

She glanced up at the pink sky and spotted the faint shadow of the moon determined to fight the coming of the sun.

It was midday when she reached the entrance to the cave. All that was left of the wooden door was an explosion of splinters. This was going to be interesting. She unsheathed the dirk at her belt and felt the smooth edge of the silver blade. It tingled with the memory of lighting. It had been a gift from Ranis for her recent help. Ready, she ducked through the remains of the doorframe and entered.

She passed the bodies of two more men whom she presumed to be smugglers of some sort considering their attire. She moved cautiously through the caves until she came to dead end. The caves were empty. Her prey must have pushed on through the night. She allowed herself a quiet curse before turning back towards the exit of the cave.

The light was streaming through the exit when her senses suddenly screamed at her but she turned a second too late. A blow to the head sent her to her knees and the follow-up kick left her reeling on her back on the floor. Her head was swimming as she fought to keep her thoughts together. As the stranger knelt on her chest, crushing the breath out of her, she sent an explosion of ice towards where she thought his face should be.

He stumbled off of her cursing, giving her the time to get back on to her feet, albeit unsteadily. She spotted her blade a few feet away when he came charging so she threw herself to the ground to evade him and reached for the blade. He read her movements and caught her hand before her fingers closed around the hilt of the blade. With inhuman strength he flipped her onto her back, this time successfully pinning her hand and foot to the ground.

“Who sent you?” He screamed.

“Go to hell!” She spat back.

“Tell me!” His hands moved to grasp her head and hers went to fight uselessly against him.

He lifted her head, using a tight grip in her hair, and smashed it backwards onto the rocky ground. Her vision went blurry as consciousness threatened to abandon her but she held on. He lifted her again before she screamed.

“ISIS!”

He froze, bright green eyes searching hers for the trap. She saw him truly for the first time. The man was shirtless with the golden skin and height of a High Elf, decorated with the features more true to those of a Bosmer. He was truly beautiful. His green eyes gave her pause.

He lowered her back to the ground with care and released her hair. “Isis is dead.” His voice quieter but no less aggressive.

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

He lent forward, his face millimetres from hers being held in place by his strong fingers. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend. She sent me to find you. Said you could help her remember a few things.”

His hands left her face but he didn’t shift his weight. “Remember what?”

“Get off me and we’ll talk.”

He watched her warily for a second and then lifted off her with surprising agility. “Talk then.”

Syl straightened herself and adjusted her shirt which had twisted to reveal more than intended. She saw his eyes shift there and back for a split second and turned her back to finish adjusting herself.

“She claims to have lost her memory. It comes back in flashes and your name was one of those. She remembers you as wolf and that’s about it. She wants to know why.”

She turned to find him walking away from her towards the back of the cave.

“Is that it then?” She called after him.

“If she doesn’t remember, it’s for the best. If she could forget me completely, even better.”

She had promised Isis those answers. “What happened, Leto?”

He turned to look at her at the mention of his name. “Nothing that concerns you, mortal.”

It was true. It didn’t concern her. She was here on the behest of an amnesiac vampire. What happened was none of her business. But a promise is a promise.

“I’m not leaving until I have the answers I’ve been sent to find.”

“You won’t be getting them from me, so leave.” He walked to the back of the cave and sought out a flint in the darkness. A few strikes later a fire had been lit in the centre of the cavern chamber. Its warmth chased away the slight chill in the air and served best to light the area. The previous owners had laid out the most basic of furnishings. Leto settled himself on a moth eaten bedroll across the fire from Syl, not deigning to look at her.

Eventually he raised his gaze to meet hers. “You look like her, you know.”

“You two were…?” She asked, settling herself at an old wooden table.

“She was the love of my life. I was ready to die for her.” His voice was dark.

“What happened?”

“I did.”

The pieces started to fit together in Syl’s mind. “You’re a werewolf.”

He stared at her with green eyes. “I lost her almost a hundred years ago because of it… I didn’t think I would hear her name again. You’re related, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

He smiled as if remembering some old joke. 

“Will you seek her out now?” She asked, tentatively.

He seemed to think about it, but his answer was firm. “No.” His green eyes went cold as they watched her through the flames. “Nor do I want her to know who I am. Tell her that you didn’t find me or tell her I couldn’t remember her, whatever she’s paying you for this, I will pay you double.”

“She’s not paying me as such. It’s more of a favour sort of deal.”

“And a favour from me could come to much more.” She caught a glimpse of his sharp white teeth as he smile for the first time.

“Do you still have feelings for her?”

Once again, his answer came fast and firm. “No.”

Syl quietened and considered her options. She would find no more help in this cave. She got to her feet and turned to leave the cave once more.

“Is that it then?” A strange cockiness seemed to have overcome him.

“Did you have anything more?”

“Nothing more for her. But for you…”

Syl felt herself caught on the back foot once more. Her hesitation gave him time to get to his feet and start towards her. His physique was impressive, boosted by his wolf’s blood. Something about him called out to her. Some small voice in her head whispered extracts of a book she’d read about the pheromones they excrete, but she barely registered. In a few strides he was in front of her.

Gilyan’s face flashed forward in her mind and disappeared just as quickly.

“What about me?”

“You’re a beautiful creature and I don’t even know your name.”

She couldn’t think of anything witty. “Syl.”

Leto leaned forward and brought his lips close against her ear. “Say the word, Syl, and I’m yours.”

For a moment she thought she would lose it. Like hell am I going to lose a power play with a werewolf. “I’ll let you know.”

With all the will power in the world she turned away from him and sauntered out of the cave, knowing his eyes would follow her out. 

Outside she took in a deep breath of fresh air to calm her racing her and began the trek back home and by the gods was she tired.


	37. Home Sweet Home

A week later Syl gave Fim a new assignment. The guild was blown away with her work and with her promotion to Magician came generous funds awarded to the Vvardenfell branch, Ranis offered Syl a small grant with which to purchase a home on the island. As much as her advances had been appreciated, her need for her own space became apparent when a new apprentice “accidentally” walked into one her new breed of destruction spells. Syl had been working on a way of combining elements for more drastic effects. The restoration specialist of the guild agreed this was a success. To this end, Fim was charged with finding a quiet space for them to move into.

Fimmion was advancing rapidly in his studies too, becoming more proficient with alchemy every day. He worked with Syl in the mornings, mostly on his illusion spells but occasionally delved into the arts of destruction and alteration, worked on his potions in the afternoon, occasionally with Ajira, and studied his books in the evening. Syl had set him up with a guild account (a safety deposit box managed by the guild master) as a way of securely storing his profits from his sales but he insisted every month that she accept a small percentage for his room and board. He had jumped at the idea of staying by her side when she moved away which had made Syl very happy in return. His company and loyalty had become a constant source of strength for Syl and she had been a little worried that he would instead prefer to move into the guild permanently when she left The Eight Plates.

Two weeks into the search, an ideal cottage showed up in the Ascadian Isles, overlooking the lake. The cottage was fairly isolated but within walking distance of town. The main house contained a beautiful attic ensuite bedroom, a small study with ample storage for books and scrolls, a large kitchen with an eating area and a dining room which Syl promptly converted into a lab and training area. The cottage also included a one-room outhouse which was perfect for Fim’s purposes as well as a fine garden in the small courtyard area. The entire package was fairly cheap as the previous owner had passed away the day they stumbled upon so the guild’s grant went into adding to the simple furnishings and hiring maintenance staff to come three times a week.

For the first time, Syl felt comfortable on Vvardenfell. Until the thought of the four Houses crept into her mind. Then she just felt ill. How much more could she procrastinate?

This answer came with a summons to the Telvanni House in Sadrith Mora the following day.

She attended dressed in deep blue robes of fine silk inlaid with gold thread in traditional Dunmer patterns. In order to further keep up appearances, Syl had asked Fim to accompany her as most apprentices accompany their masters at council.

They travelled through the Mage’s Guild teleportation network at noon and made their way through the bustle of town towards the Council Chambers. The chambers were housed inside the large blue mushroom that had been grown for those exact purposes by the docks. As you neared the structure, you could see the mushroom head was only a thin membrane allowing the light to filter through to the main chamber inside and as much as Syl was impressed from the outside, it did not compare to the awe she felt when she stepped into the hall. The sun streamed through the roof and walls, bringing the colours of the structure to life. The greens and blues danced along the podiums making them seem much more impressive and alive.

When they were finally admitted into the main chamber, the Mouths of the six leaders of the Telvanni House stood at their respective podiums, their robes all coloured green by the light. Their apprentices and assistants knelt below ready to leap up when needed whilst Fimmion strutted proudly by her side. Syl took her place in the centre of the circle on a lesser podium.

An elderly man in robes of deep plum opened the session. “We received word from Conjurer Bereloth saying that we should expect a visit from Kira Dareleth’s granddaughter in the near future. That was over 6 months ago.”

“I hope you’ll accept my apologies, I’ve been quite busy.”

“Too busy proclaiming yourself to be Neravarine?”

Syl was barely surprised they had heard. The Great Houses were well known for their intelligence networks. “It’s a long story.”

“So we’ve heard. Our informers have had quite a lot to say about it.”

She started to raise her voice to speak but she was cut short by young male speaker.

“It’s been said that you have people travelling to the Ashlander tribes persuading them to back you as the one true reincarnate. Is this true?”

“Not exactly. I have one associate who’s-“

“So you don’t deny it?” This time it was a female in golden robes.

Fimmion was starting to fidget beside her.

“How can I? You didn’t summon me here to confirm what you already know, I hope?” She dared to meet each of them in the eye. The pause gave her her first chance to take it all in. Measure them each up. Read them as best she could. She identified the Archmagister’s representative and watched him carefully. He hadn’t spoken yet, and for that she was glad, but he appeared thoroughly bored by the proceedings.

“We summoned you here to explain yourself.” The confidence was gone out of the first speaker’s voice now.

“And why should I? I am no member of your house.”

“Your grandfather-“

“Has long been buried. As flattered as I am, I will join your house in my own time.” They were back under her control. “In the meantime, Mouth Ryon, I would humbly ask for an audience with Archmagister Gothren.”

With no pause he replied. “Granted. Seek him out in Tel Aruhn.”

Before anyone could speak up she turned on her heel leaving in a swirl of blues and gold. On her way out she heard the soft footfalls of silk shoes behind her. She glanced sideways at Fim and they shared a smile before turning straight faced to see who was following. A tall young man in green robes who had kept his tongue through the audience, was approaching them at a leisurely pace.

“Galos Mathendis, sera. Mouth to Master Aryon.” He announced with a slight bow.

She nodded acknowledgement. “May I help you?”

He came forward and pressed an envelope into her hands. “A kind word of welcome and wishes of hope to see you in the near future from my lord.”

She took the envelope and watched him walk casually back towards the main chamber. She handed the envelope to Fim and who eagerly ripped it open as they made their way towards the dockside.

“Meet me on the Marissa at midday - G.”


	38. House Politics

Master Aryon reclined at a small table in the Captain’s cabin whilst a young boy of Fim’s age filled his glass.

“I’m surprised it took you so long to get through that farce of an audience.” He waved the boy away.

Syl watched the Dunmer carefully. Aryon was young for a councillor and plagued by rumours of personal advancement. It had been said that he had bribed, blackmailed and played the game of politics and power more ruthlessly than any councillor alive. This meant little when looking at the Telvanni House’s history which was crammed with stories of a similar ilk.

“I’m surprised it was necessary.” Syl replied, taking a seat beside.

“Then you know little of the Telvanni. Sticklers for tradition.” He poured another glass for her. “I assume you requested an audience with our dutiful Archmagister?”

“I did.”

“Do you know what makes Archmagister Gothren a good leader for our House?”

“His incredible good looks?”

“Hmph. It is his ability to nod and sign whatever piece of paper the right person puts in front of him.”

“He’s a puppet?”

Master Aryon stood. “No, not exactly. He just doesn’t care. He’s too concerned with preserving his own legacy to care what happens to this House.” He paused in front of the window, which looked out on to the awaiting sea. “Luckily he has five reliable councillors to run the show in his stead. We do the legwork and he signs off on it. The system works fine.”

“But it could run better.”

He turned to her with a smile on his face. “Yes. I’m glad you understand. This House is could be raised back up to the glory it once was… With appropriate leadership.”

“So the rumours are true? You do plan to take the Archmagister’s place?”

“Of course! What’s life without a little ambition?”

It was her turn to smile. She had spoken those words. “You’re being incredibly open with me.”

“I want to start this relationship on a good note. A note of mutual trust if you will.”

“So you need my help.”

He sat back down, his glass empty. “Of course. I hope that much was clear from the start.” His smile was incredibly charming. “What maybe wasn’t clear is that you need me too. You see, Gothren, although malleable, is not stupid. The rebuttal he could face for backing you as Hortator could cost him a lot of long-term support. Most likely he plans to postpone his support indefinitely.”

Hortator. The title the five Great Houses needed to bestow upon her to progress in her quest as Nerevarine. The sound of it rendered her sick. Whilst Gilyan was halfway across the continent persuading the equivalent powers of the land to unanimously name her Nerevarine, her task to convince the Great Houses lay before her, untouched.

“I don’t suppose he’ll phrase it in quite the same way, will he?”

“Of course not! He has no backbone for such words.”

“Continue with your proposal, Aryon. I have business to be getting back to.”

“Mage’s Guild business? I hear you’re doing well. Word is Athrys has been offered a lucrative position as Guildmaster of the Vivec branch and is considering you for succession.”

Syl frowned. “That’s impossible. Vivec is the seat of the head of the Vvardenfell guilds and I haven’t heard that Artorius was planning a resignation.”

“He isn’t. However, a number of high-ranking guild members deem him to not be sane mind anymore. I believe the plan is to remove him from power before the new moon.”

This was news to Syl, though none of it seemed extraordinary and it was about time the guild addressed the deteriorating situation Arch Mage Artorius was causing. A number of Vivec mages had recently resigned and openly declared him to be the cause.

“You’re looking for an alliance between the Guild and the Telvanni?”

“Not exactly. But what some of my contemporaries do not understand is that nothing will be lost if we have a respected House member in a position of power. Both parties will benefit from an amplified network, access to resources and most importantly, political sway.” He stood up once again to saunter about the room. “My driving goal here is to secure a powerful voice for mages across the continent. We have often been underrepresented and shunned for our approaches. I will change this.”

“You’re very confident.” Syl watched him carefully. The challenge here was to calculate whether he had the right reasons to be confident. “You won’t gain much political clout with an association with the Head of a single guild branch.”

“No, but you show a lot of potential. Your climb could take you further, especially if you had access to the House’s most precious resources. Do you not agree?”

She smiled a tight lip smile. “Be that as it may but my priorities really don’t lie in guild advancement at the moment.”

“Oh yes, this whole Nerevarine business.” He seemed so dismissive she began to worry this had been a waste of time. “ The sooner this is sorted the better, no? So this is what I offer you: help me relieve the Arch Magister of his tiresome duties and in exchange I will not only persuade the other House councillors to name you Hortator, but I will grant you a suitable grand standing in the Telvanni House, giving you full access to our resources and sway.”

It was a tempting pay out but the means seemed much too vague. “And how do expect me to help you remove the Arch Magister?”

“There is only one way to do so. You’ll need to do it the old fashioned way.”

“A duel?”

“Exactly. I’ll even have my crew set sail immediately if you’re ready.”

“You really don’t waste time do you?”

“I prefer to seize an opportunity than let things simmer and boil. Though you shouldn’t mistake speed for lack of planning.”

“Why not do it yourself? Why me?”

“Because it get’s too complicated if my hand does the deed. Besides, a show of power would really help your cause when I’m trying to persuade the councillors to elect you Hortator.” His smooth delivery almost seemed rehearsed.

Syl stood. It barely surprised her that she would have to get her hands dirty but she wasn’t sure she was prepared to get herself tangled in the net of political power plays. On the other hand, her last attempt to keep to the shadows landed her straight on this god-forsaken island.

“Tell your men to set sail.”


	39. Old Fashioned Way

Fim was pacing back and forth restlessly when Syl found him at the helm of the deck.

“Not a fan of boats, I take it?”

“It’s not the boats that bother me. It’s the water beneath it.” He looked gingerly over the port side. 

Syl chuckled.

“So we’re heading to Tel Aruhn?”

She nodded. “I’ve struck a deal with our host. Hopefully after this we can be rid of this Hortator headache.”

“You really think they can persuade all the other Houses to declare you?” Fim had been doubtful from the start.

All she did was smile as she rested on her hands on the rail, her eyes fixed on the eastern coast. “I came to Morrowind on a ship just like this. Landed over a year ago. Yet here I am. Outranking any position I held at the university, an agent of the Imperials and most importantly, stronger than I ever was.” She turned to face him and lowered her voice. “The Telvanni need me in their ranks. Not just because of my family name, but because I am more powerful than any councillor here. Whether they know it already or will be finding out, they will bend over backwards for me because of it.”

Fim forced a smile as the boat rocked awkwardly. “Lucky us.”

***

Isis sat back watching the smugglers haul their gear up onto the decks using an intricate series of pulley systems. If you were ever going to give them any credit it should be for their innovative ways around getting their products moving. There was no way they were about to load up this shipment on any docks so they had had to pull into a small bay south of Gnaar Mok. It was a rocky and treacherous route to take considering the shallow depths and rocky fingers that reached up from the rocky bottoms of the sea grasping out to drag passing ships under.

On any other occasion Isis would have been planning the best way to pick them off one by one but until they had got her to the mainland she was willing to set aside her hunger and ignore their crimes.

She watched as they struggled with an exceptionally large crate, her senses focusing on taking in the particularities of this island which once had been her home. She had found little to help her recall anything more of her past so she had decided to leave it to lie.

A new scent meddled with the stench of the sea salted smugglers. A scent that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The scent of dog.

She whirled from a seated position to face the other way in a low crouch. In the darkness, she spied a large shifting figure. Straightening herself she took a step forward towards the stranger a sinking feeling in her stomach about what she would find.

His voice came out deep and gruff. “You sent her to look for me.”

“Leto.”

“Why did you send the witch? Truly.”

She saw his face and yet remembered nothing. Nothing came back. No memories and no emotions. He was truly a stranger.

“I needed to know… I need to know what were you to me.”

He took his own step forward, the crease line in his fore head deepening. “I was your everything.” His steps took him to stand before her. “I suppose if you had remembered you would have come yourself though.” He turned his back to her sparring her from his accusing stare.

“I thought if I knew that it would help…”

“Help with what?!” He turned on her, this time his eyes bore into her ruthlessly demanding the truth. “There is nothing left of what we had or who we were. Remembering has only caused me pain so let me save you some time and tell you that the moment you walk away from this is the moment your life will begin.”

She searched his eyes and found no warmth there. He truly had walked away from what their mortal lives had held. Whatever that had been. “I’m sorry.”

He seemed taken aback and so his piercing eyes softened then. “There is nothing left to apologise for. I’m the one who had to watch it all happen and that’s not your fault.” He took her hand and placed a soft kiss on her slender fingers. “Let this moment be the closure we never had.”

Isis smiled in a way that had not graced her stern feature in years. “Thank you.”


	40. Victory

Syl’Rahna fell heavily back onto the wall behind her, completely out of breath.

The duel had been a long one. Artorius had been extremely powerful and had managed to keep her on the back foot for most of the time, forcing her to attack only by countering his deadly lashes. In the end she managed to exploit his inability to adapt and change by switching to disabling Illusion spells. Once she had damaged his mana it was just a matter of time before his shield crumbled under her sudden volley of attacks.

She summoned all her energy to push herself off the wall to approach his lifeless body. Aryon had protested when she withheld her final strike, offering the Arch Magister an honourable surrender. Artorius had slumped as he accepted her hand and she had barely any time to react when she saw the flash of the knife in his other hand. The bolt of ice formed in her hand and plunged itself into his aging body before she had the chance to think about it.

The ice had all but melted as his life seeped away as she looked down on him. Aryon approached her a placed what she assumed was supposed to be a friendly hand on her shoulder. She just felt uncomfortable.

She shrugged his hand away. “Congratulations, Arch Magister.”

He grinned at her. “Indeed! Thank you. Congratulations to you, Master! What a wonderful day, am I right?” Aryon waved his men forward who knelt besides the body and prepared to move it out of sight. He strode over to the imposing chair which Artorius had occupied when they had arrived. He settled himself in the huge leather seat. “Now there’s much to be done and we have to move fast or else people will start asking questions and talking and debating and all that nonsense. My first priority as Arch Magister is of course to get you named Hortator as soon as possible. Moving quickly is of the essence here.”

Syl began to feel her strength returning. She wandered over to the drinks cabinet in the corner. Some of the decanters had been smashed when the spells had been flying. She served herself the first thing that came to hand.

“So what will you be needing of me?”

“Oh nothing! That’s the beauty of it. All the hard work is done. I would recommend you stay out of trouble though. It would help things move along smoothly. Otherwise, you can trust me.”

Syl laughed into her glass. “Trust isn’t my speciality but as long as you keep your side of the bargain I won’t complain.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see to it that the Marissa gets you back to the Mainland safely.”

“That won’t be necessary. Fimmion and I will teleport back to the Guild.”

She finished her drink and left her glass on the side. Her walk out of the tower was a strain on her legs but the fresh sea air returned the rest of her spirits. Fimmion was fidgeting on the shore when she emerged.

“We won?”

“We won.”

He laughed and cheered. His happiness was still as infectious as the day they had met. She couldn’t help but laugh with him.

***

Three more months had passed before she received word from Gilyan updating her on his progress. He had been doing well, working on building sustainable relationships with each of the Ashlander clans. It was a long and excruciating process integrating himself and attempting to maintain remote control on the operatives of Vvardenfell, but he was managing it all fine according to his brief note. She had read it several times, each time hoping to find some trace of his missing her or something similar. After the seventh time she truly started to feel ridiculous so she threw it in the hearth. 

Fimmion had been spending many a night at the Guild working on his potions. According to their last dinner together, he thought he was close to designing a complete immunisation to the diseases of Vvardenfell, one which could potentially end the quarantine! He’d been so excited his speech had sped up tenfold. He was also extremely proud to announce he’d taken on his on an unofficial assistant. The young girl, Mamaea from the Temple had come seeking him out when she had heard the rumours of his work on the immunisation. Apparently she had a knack for the healing arts and was a treasured hand at the Temple so she had been able to provide some useful insight into the physical effects of each disease. Unfortunately she had received some flack from the priests for spending too long around heretics so they had taken to working in the cottage lab.

Syl enjoyed listening to them work, debate and laugh as they played around with different techniques. There was a lot of trial and error involved in their experiments and more than once she had been called in to tame some out of control flames. Mamaea was quickly becoming part of their misfit family.

Tonight, however, Fimmion was working alone at the Guild whilst Mamaea was away on pilgrimage. Syl had the house to herself and felt slightly lost without the sounds of life. She sat at her desk pondering the days when she would crave isolation. She smiled as she closed her eyes allowed herself to relive her fondest memories of the Academy. 

Her eyes shot opened as she caught the scent of an intruder.

What startled her was not his presence, but his familiarity. Her mind raced to place the sweet intoxicating scent in the seconds following her discovery but just as she pinned it down she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Good evening.” His voice was like silk.

She dared not turn around for fear of realising just how close he was to her. “Leto. What a pleasure.”

“Not a surprise?” She could hear the smile in his tone. 

Very carefully she stood from the chair and turned to perch on the edge of the desk, keeping the chair firmly between them. She was clad in a light blue nightgown which started as a flow of silk that sat just off her shoulders and dropped down to ground, with two ample cuts up each leg to allow for comfortable movement. It clung tightly to her body in the warm evening air which even the open window couldn’t hope to remedy. She felt his eyes feast on the sight of her and suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. 

“Not really. I have a knack for figuring out when I’ll see people again.”

He smiled, his eyes fixed on hers. “You’ve been causing quite the stir you know.”

“Returned to civilisation, have you?”

“After we met, you left me with the urge to catch up with modern life.”

“I’m so glad.” She shifted slightly under his gaze.

He circled around the chair towards her so she got to her feet and busied herself with tidying the remaining paperwork on her desk. As she reached for the last file, she felt him slide in behind her and felt his lips at her ear.

“You’re getting in the middle of a very dangerous war, Syl’Rahna.”

She paused. “What would you know about it?”

“More than you. Believe me.”

Syl turned to face him at this point, the tension completely forgotten. “What is it that you know, Leto?”

He graced her with another smile. “Are you asking for my help?”

“I’m not even convinced you can help.”

“I spent centuries wandering around every hell hole on this godforsaken island and I’ve found quite a few things along the way. Things that no man should ever find let alone touch. These are the things you will be playing with, the toys you’ll need to find. You’ll need someone who knows their way around.” He leaned in closely, gently pressing his body into hers. His pheromones were driving her out of her mind.

“I’m assuming you’re that someone?”

“Did you have someone else in mind?”

“I’m the Nerevarine. I’m sure they’ll all be lining up.”

He laughed. “You must be the smartest woman that I’ve ever met that could be so naïve.”

“I’m not naïve enough to think you would help me for the hell of it.”

“You’re right. I’ll help you because I wouldn’t want to see you unnecessarily thrown to the wolves to get torn to shreds.”

“An interesting analogy.”

“I have a thing about wolves.”

“Apparently so do I.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He slid his hands into her hair and pulled her in close as his lips sought out her own in a passionate kiss. Any remaining space between their bodies was bridged in that instant as they melted into each other’s embrace. His hands ran lightly down the length of her neck and along her shoulders until it reached the top of her gown. In the smoothest of motions he had the thin silk shift sliding down off her body to the floor. She gasped into his kiss as she felt his hands explore her body. As his lips moved down to plant kisses on her skin all the way down her neck, her hands slid down the front of his shirt undoing the buttons that remained closed. The moment Syl had his shirt off he lifted her up on to the desk and climbed up on top of her. 

The rest became a blur. A really pleasurable blur.


	41. Warmth

Syl’Rahna awoke with Leto’s body draped possessively across her. The werewolf blood kept his temperature high and whilst it was the sweetest comfort in the night, when the sun rose, she began to feel claustrophobic.

Afraid to wake him, she gently slid out from under his arm but soon realised he was not to be woken easily. She headed downstairs in a light dressing gown, her stomach rumbling. Last night had been…

Syl caught herself grinning at the thought and immediately felt foolish. Though no amount of self-awareness could make her stop. Leto was unlike anything she had ever experienced. His animalistic instincts had driven her to the edge repeatedly through the night with his inhuman stamina keeping him coming back for more.

She quickly drew up a simple omelette and served it with some bread left over from the day before. When that hadn’t been enough she started digging into a fruit salad. Leto strode in, still bleary eyed and stark naked causing her to nearly choke on a grape. Apparently, his physique just got more impressive in the daylight.

He sat down across from her. “Didn’t see enough last night?”

She laughed. “I’m still processing that.” He drew his chair up next to hers and reached for a slice of apple from her bowl. “Let me make you something.”

Leto grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down into his lap. “Don’t bother. I only really have an appetite for rare meat.”

She caught a glimpse of the red flecks in his eyes. There was beauty in the danger of his bloodlust and she found herself completely entranced by it. Occasionally her thoughts had drifted towards how she would defend herself if things went wrong, but then she remembered how good she felt when he touched her and she either got distracted or forgot to care.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent and making her tummy do turns. He smiled into her hair when he felt her reacting. Before she knew it he had her on floor and was ravaging her all over again, his growling getting louder with each thrust. They came together on the cold flagstones of the kitchen screaming out their content.

***

“I need to consult a few things before we start. Besides, you need to confirm your position as the Nerevarine with a few more audiences with the right people. I’ll leave that to you.”

She watched him dress from the bed. “How do you know so much about the Nerevarine? Do you actually believe it?”

“You don’t?” He eyed her curiously. “I’ve been around a while. A long while. As I said before, you get to learn a lot.”

“And you’ll share all this knowledge with me just to sleep in my bed.” She grinned at him, tangled up in the sheets from their last encounter.

He buttoned half of his shirt before diving in on top of her. “I’ll do it because you must be the most interesting thing to happen in the past two years. I want to see how many more surprises you’ll bring. I want to see if you really can be the promised incarnate.” His lips sought out hers. “But I won’t say no to the bed either.”

The kiss finished, he deftly climbed off her and left her with one more grin before leaving her to recover.

What was left of her day resumed in the laziest and slowest way possible and before she knew it dusk was creeping up on her. She had successfully penned the last of her letters to various councillors whom she need to win over and stacked them neatly to the side. With the last of that paperwork completed, Syl sighed with relief as she observed her empty desk. She spent the rest of the evening downstairs playing around with the new spell combinations she had been working on and in the end, felt surprisingly productive.

She crawled into bed calm and content and let herself slip into a series of vivid dreams. She awoke before dawn the next day, heart racing. Gilyan had been there as clear as day. She had seen him, heard him and held him. He had been so peaceful and gentle as he had pulled her close into an embrace that seemed to last an eternity. His voice had soothed her beyond words as she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. She took note that she was in fact in bed- alone- and breathed in deep to slow her still heavily beating heart. The pounding in her chest eventually gave way to an ache which she could not justify and, after sitting in bed for near to an hour trying to justify the excessively physical emotional reaction she was having to the dream, she finally gave up and got up. 

The messenger arrived not long before noon to deliver the letter.

Fimmion found Syl hurling explosive fireballs one after the other at one of the trees across the yard. She had thrown a protective barrier around it before the onslaught began but that seemed to be the only precaution she had taken. He paused as she launched herself into an especially vicious onslaught of toxic green flames at the tree. The barrier wavered but she didn’t seem to be ready to stop. Concerned for both her and the tree, Fim announced himself.

“Ho there, boss!”

Syl paused but threw one final crushing blow at the barrier, which exploded into a million ethereal pieces, before turning to him.

“Apologies.” She pushed a few strands of errant hair from her face. “Welcome back. How did it go?”

Still on edge, Fimmion tried to keep it as light as possible. A soon as it became clear that she was not ready to discuss whatever had put her in such a thunderous mood, he offered to go inside and make some tea.

She offered him a meek smile as she noted his efforts. “That would be nice. There’s left over pie on the counter. Help yourself if you haven’t eaten.”

“Amazing! I’ll get right to it.”

He slipped inside and left her to it. There was a short delay before she resumed her spells but he was relieved to hear that they had slowed in frequency and considerably diminished in intensity. He prepared a pot of lavender brew to further soothe whatever ailed her and placed it on a tray with some plain butter biscuits and two cups. He was well versed in taking care of Syl when her temper got the better of her and did it even without thinking. They had an easy relationship and she was the closest thing to family he felt he had.

Just as he went to pick up the tray up he noticed a letter lying on the floor by the counter, the edges of the paper singed. It took him a moment to understand whom it was from and even another moment to make the connection, but at least he felt as if part of the mystery was solved. He picked the tray back up and took it through to the living room.

Fim signalled to Syl through the window that tea was served and settled himself in a comfortable chair before considering how to proceed. There wasn’t much to say and he could barely grasp why she should be so torn up over it but he was sure that was what had set her off. He briefly toyed with the idea of talking to her about it but then thought better of it. He was still not very well versed in these matters and, worse than all, they made him feel very uncomfortable. Things would take place in their own time, and very soon at that. 

Gilyan was already on the road home after all.


	42. Reunited

A few short days later, Syl’Rahna made an extraordinary breakthrough in her research. She had finally found a formula to stabilize the combination spells she had been working on and had hurried to put together a rough draft of her paper, despite the infernal disruptions Leto tended to cause.

He’d arrive unannounced and take her into his arms the second he saw her. The next few hours would always be wasted away and she’d usually be too exhausted to resume whatever she had been doing straight away. Then he would doze naked on her bed, every now and then stretching like a cat across the sheets and would inevitably turn to watch her working at her desk with those hypnotic golden eyes until she succumbed to him again. Nevertheless, she had somehow put together an acceptable proposal to bring back to Ranis. 

The progress had earned her a lot of credit in the Guild and it wasn’t long before Ranis confirmed her promotion to Warlock. Syl accepted the advancement with silent modesty although she was jubilant on the inside. Still, the promotion brought a knot to her stomach as she remembered she had not been entirely honest about her status with the Guild when she joined. 

This was a secret that Arch Magister Aryon had not taken long in finding out once he started digging into her past, trying to find the weaknesses her rivals might try to use against her. He had met her in Sadrith Mora shortly after their last meeting to discuss the matter and had reassured her he had rectified the situation. To the best of her understanding, his agents had modified some paperwork and purposefully leaked details of a legitimate reinstatement on the mainland to avoid any persons attempting to take advantage of the secret. Above all the relief, however, it amused her to think that Raminus might catch wind of her advancement.

The downside to her progress was that she was required on site a lot more. She was at the Guild most days of the week, supervising the new Apprentices and Journeymen assigned to her, continuing her research and carrying out other day to day Guild duties as was expected of a higher ranking mage.

She and Fim teleported back to the Balmora branch mid afternoon after having concluded the business of transferring further research materials over from Wolverine Hall. Masalinie, the Guild Guide, beckoned them over to her desk as she saw them appear on the transportation podium.

“Welcome back. How did it go?” She chimed in her usual cheery high tones. 

“Successfully. They’ll be sending what we need in the next week. I didn’t realise quite how shrewd a negotiator Procyon could be!”

“Ha! He certainly is when it comes to parting with his spell books! But I’ll keep an eye out for the deliveries for you. I’ll notify you as soon as they arrive.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” Syl and Fim turned to leave.

“Oh no, wait!” Masaline exclaimed, her voice climbing even higher. “That handsome friend of yours dropped by again!”

Fim tensed by her side. Syl’Rahna had not mentioned him a single time since he had found the letter and had not even deigned to acknowledge his numerous attempts to get in touch. She had even taken to not leaving the Guild Hall under any circumstances, just in case. She had instructed all Guild Members to inform any visitors that she was busy and under no circumstances to give them directions to her cottage. He could only think it was for Gilyan’s benefit, which made Fimmion feel even worse. He quite liked Gilyan. He had spotted Fim the second time he dropped around and had given the boy a great big hug. It had been so hard to lie to him. He had gotten all his words mixed up and forgot how to speak in the process so quickly excused himself and rushed off, pretending to be busy. 

He glanced up at Syl. “Perhaps you should at least say hi to him.”

“No.” With that she stormed off.

Syl wasn’t quite sure why she was so angry with him. He hadn’t exactly done anything wrong. He just hadn’t said what she wanted him to say. But she hadn’t wanted him to say anything in the first place! None of it made sense. She had a suspicion she was angrier at herself than anyone for reacting as she did at every thought of him. Any time his name was mentioned, her tummy turned and she felt incredible guilt. As if she had owed him some sort of loyalty…

These thoughts accompanied her all the way home, so it was a relief to see the silhouette of the cottage off the side of the road up ahead. The relief was short lived when she entered her kitchen and found Gilyan comfortably seated at the dining table.

“Gilyan! What are you doing here?!”

He grinned in the way he always did, although his face was marred with new scars. “Most people have opened with ‘Welcome back’ but alright.” He stood and strode over to her.

“Oh, sorry! Welcome back! I didn’t mean… Sorry, I just didn’t expect you to be here… I would have-“ Syl started to get all flustered again.

“You would have what? Moved away? Avoided coming home until you heard I was gone?” He was still smiling though she could see that there was something more there. Sadness?

He reached out to her and took her into his arms. Despite her panic and confusion she hugged him back. It was nice. It felt… right?

Eventually, coherent thought came back to her and she pulled away. “Hey, wait. How did you get in here?”

He laughed. “Mamaea let me in. Made me a cup of tea. But don’t worry, she was absolutely guilt ridden over it! I offered to stay outside but she couldn’t allow herself to leave a guest on the doorstep!”

Of course! She had completely forgotten the girl was here. Mamaea had been preparing for a pilgrimage to a shrine along the lake and preferred the peace of the cottage to the Temple’s halls to settle into the appropriate frame of mind. She would have teleported back to the Temple since and Syl would probably not see the girl for another couple of weeks.

“Oh, right. Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Come, sit. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m just fine.”

He settled back into his chair and kept his eyes on her as she fumbled around the kitchen finding another cup before joining him at the table. She served herself some tea and settled back to meet his gaze.

“So, how did it go? You must have incredible stories to tell!”

He hesitated and for a moment she was worried he wasn’t ready to let go of the fact that she had avoided speaking to him in person for over a week since his return.

“Oh um, yes it went well. You got my letters did you not? All three clans have agreed to name and accept you as the Nerevarine. They will need to meet you though and bestow upon you the appropriate rights and blessings and it’ll have to be soon. I can arrange for the tour to be short though so I can have you back at the Guild in no time. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you!” She felt excitement come over her and she allowed herself to flaunt a little bit. “You wouldn’t believe the breakthrough I’ve made. I’ve finally found a way to cast a stable spell that draws energy from both the schools of Destruction and Illusion! I’ve managed to create a breed of poisonous flames which both burn and infect, summon lighting which both electrifies and paralyses but most importantly, I’ve found a way of using frost spells as a healing technique to isolate infections and numb the patients! I even- sorry. I’m boring you. I can get a bit excited.”

Gilyan laughed. “Not at all. It’s actually really nice to listen to you talk about it. I don’t know much myself but I can see how it’s a big deal. Well done! I’m very proud of you.” He paused and reached for his cup. “But tell me, have you found a way to make fireproof paper yet?”

“Oh, shove off!”

They continued like this well into the evening, talking and sharing everything that had happened whilst they had been apart. Syl forgot all anger and discontent and laughed as he regaled her with her tales. It had not all been sunshine and games though. He had gotten himself stuck in a few rough situations where he had wished to have her by his side. For the magic, of course, as he clarified a few times. 

Fimmion came home exhausted from his studies, and found them in the lounge, wine glasses in hand talking about the duel with the Arch Magister. Syl graced him with every detail and Fimmion jumped in to add some overly zealous re-enactments of the ‘battle’.

Once dinner was had, Fimmion said his goodnights and disappeared to the small house across yard.

Gilyan got to his feet. “I should be getting back too. I’ve a lot to catch up with and a few contracts to turn over to the Guild.”

“Contracts? On top of everything else including the Blades?”

He answered very matter-of-factly. “Yes, I stayed in touch with the Guild and had them deliver me a few contracts relevant to the areas I was passing through. It worked quite well all in all, though I have a shit-load of paperwork waiting for me.”

Syl laughed. “Do you ever stop? Even for a bit?”

“Do you?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been very good at avoiding my work.”

It was Gilyan’s turn to laugh. “Whatever it is you’re doing, it seems to be working. I’m looking forward to getting you back out there.”

“Me too… I could use the exercise.”

He smiled and headed for the door. She followed him out and paused with him at the door. The night was warm and peaceful. Gilyan’s posture changed and she felt his gaze bear heavily down on her. All of a sudden, all her disquiet returned and she felt awkward again.

“Syl, I needed to say-“

“I met someone.” It came out of her mouth before she could even think of stopping it.

“What? Oh, right. You have?”

There was absolutely no chance of a turnabout here. “Yes, I was going to say something earlier but it slipped my mind.”

“Oh, alright. Yes, well, I’m happy for you.” She could see he was suddenly out of words to say. So she’d been right? He was about to…

She let out an audible groan and he looked at her questionably. She burst out laughing completely unaware that she had just done that out loud. Gilyan hesitated but found the entire situation so ridiculous he eventually joined her.

When the laughter died away he smiled at her once more. She looked up into his eyes and smiled back. There was so much warmth there and yet so much pain. She wanted to reach out and place a hand over the new scars that marked his features. He was a good man and he deserved to be happy, to be at peace. She wanted him to hold her. To tell her how he felt. Most of all, she wanted to hit him for not having said anything at all. The look of utter disappointment on his face, gave her the impression he felt the same way.

“Are you going to be alright getting back?”

“Who me? Of course. I learned a few tricks while I was away.” He took a few steps back. “Actually though, I could use your input planning our next move. Maybe you could join me in town tomorrow evening to talk it all through?”

She nodded meekly, continuing to force a smile.

He bowed his head and muttered an incantation. The cold flames swallowed him whole and teleported him safely away back to town.


	43. When Opposing Forces Meet

“So once we’ve done that, then what?” Syl asked as the waitress cleared their plates.

“I’m not sure. I’m still looking into it.” Gilyan leaned back in his chair. “Let’s focus on getting the titles settled. Any news from the Arch Magister?”

“Yes, it’s all done. I’m receiving representatives from House Hlaalu and House Redoran in the next week to discuss the details of my appointment to Hortator.”

“Hmm, alright. I’ll put some feelers out in my House to find see if I can find out what they want in return so you can be prepared. Would you like me to assist in the meeting?”

“I would. They shouldn’t make any demands according to Aryon but it wouldn’t hurt to show I’m surrounded.”

“You’re right. Where are you receiving them?”

“Aryon is actually handing me the charge a Telvanni stronghold in the Molag Amur region. One of the other Houses recently ordered a Morag Tong hit on the previous owner and it’s been unoccupied ever since. It’ll be a useful base of operations though I doubt I’ll spend much time there other than to carry out official business. What do you think?”

He frowned, deep in thought. “Defenses?”

“Newly installed Dwemer constructs on constant patrol as well as a small force of Telvanni guards.” Syl thought this plenty sufficient.

“Have them removed, keep the constructs. I’ll put my own men in there. They will be Blades unaffiliated with any other Guild or House. It’ll will make the Stronghold appear more like neutral ground making negations easier and I’ll sleep better knowing you’re guarded by my own people.”

Syl wasn’t sure if this was the Guild Master or the friend in him speaking, but she appreciated it either way. “If it makes you happy.” She smiled, hoping to lighten his persisting serious mood.

“Syl, you really have no idea how huge this is, do you?” He leaned in and lowered his voice, his tone getting sterner. “We’re having you named and acknowledged as Nerevar reborn! People are going to call you a heretic, they’re going to want your head and others will see only ways in which they can use you. You have got to start taking this more seriously.”

She paused, caught off guard. She had been done everything that had been asked of her and had even agreed to go along with playing the role of the prophet, something which she still didn’t buy. But what else did he expect from her. She was desperate to rebuild some semblance of a normal life and back he comes obsessed with this quest.

“Maybe if you had been the one and not me, I’d be saying the same thing to you, Gilyan.” She tried to keep the frustration from her voice. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Gilyan sighed but said nothing. They finished their drinks and he walked with her back across town, in silence.

“Where are you staying?” She asked, finally breaking the tension.

“Caius’ place. He said I could use it until he returns.” 

They fell back into silence until they reached the South Bridge which connected the East and West side of town. Syl’Rahna looked out on the town. From here it looked deserted, though she could hear the distant murmurs of merriment coming from the East Bank where Balmora would still be very much alive.

“I owe you an apology.”

Syl was surprised to hear his voice. She looked up at him but he too was still fixated on the town before them. Her eyes dropped to the water below as she leaned on over the bridge.

“Being away from you was… Excruciating.” He continued. “I thought about you every day and prayed for your safety.”

She felt her whole body tense as her tummy started to do turns. She focused even harder on the water below.

“I had images in my head of what our reunion would be like and then when I finally made it back, you were…” Gilyan reached out and took her hand that had tightly been clutching the stone bridge railing. She allowed her eyes to meet his and suddenly felt lost. His scarlet eyes burned bright and she could see the intensity of the emotion he was trying to hold back. “I want you to be happy, but I can’t help thinking that… That it should be with me.”

Syl tried to think of what to say but instead stuttered and faltered over some words. He smiled for the first time that evening and his free hand came up to caress her face. It felt completely different from Leto’s silken touch. Gilyan’s hands were rough and calloused but she couldn’t help but tilt her head towards his long fingers. He felt… real.

“I don’t know who this guy is but… Please consider giving me a chance.”

Syl tried to recall Leto’s face. It wouldn’t come to her. Gilyan lent in and pulled her close. “I’m in love with you.”

He pressed his lips against hers. It was a soft and gentle kiss, charged with all the emotion of the last few months. The kiss finished, leaving her breathless and unstable but his hold held her straight. They remained standing motionless on the bridge, hand in hand. She couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She wanted him, she needed him but she knew that that wasn’t enough to make anything work.

“Please say something.” He whispered into her hair.

“I… need to figure things out. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

Reluctantly she slid her hands from his grasp and pulled away. Her confusion turned to tears as she walked away and numbness overcame her, but before she had taken many steps, something stopped her in her tracks.

She turned back to him suddenly. “You’re not in love with me, Gilyan. You don’t even know me. The few things you about me you don’t approve of and I know the rest is enough to send you running. I have wanted to share my life with you for so long but I’m afraid that once I tell you, you’ll abandon me… And Azura knows you wouldn’t be the first.”

Syl turned and walked off, leaving him poetically standing on the bridge.

Leto found her at sunset the next day, sitting on the bank of Lake Amaya, brooding over yesterday’s events. He crept up to her and slid his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck, inhaling her perfume. It drove him mad with desire. 

Syl leaned back into him but otherwise made no move to turn towards him. Her eyes remained watching the lake turn from gold to pink in the light of dusk. He reached up and turned her face towards him and kissed her deeply with all the usual passion that filled him when he was around her. She responded, melting into the kiss and submitting to the passion. He broke the kiss slowly, keeping her on the edge, before leaning in further.

“Who is he?” He snarled into her ear.

Syl tensed within his dominative embrace but was otherwise still numb from an overload of emotion. “How did you…?”

“If I hadn’t seen you, I would have known from the taste on your lips.”

“Wait. You saw us… You were following me?”

“Hmph. Irrelevant. So, who was he?” His animal aggression suddenly seemed to dissipate and was replaced with mild amusement as he watched her and waited for her answer.

She hesitated. “His name is Gilyan. He’s a colleague… and a friend.”

“Ha! How quaint. So, do you love him?” He asked bluntly.

“What? No, I… I don’t know…”

Leto smirked and began placing kisses along her collarbone, each kiss more aggressive than the last. He nipped at her skin and felt her reacting.

Syl moaned. “Leto, wait. That’s it?”

He didn’t let up. “Why, did you want to tell me more?” He said in between kisses.

“No, I just thought… Oh gods!”

Leto pinned her down into the grass in one swift move and was on her before she knew it. The kiss they shared was different. It was hard, rough and passionate. He pressed his body to hers, pushing her to her limits of control.

“I’ll be yours as long as you want me, Syl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the written chapters have now been written to date. I suspect most of you could track the point at which I picked this back up in the last year.
> 
> If you've enjoyed it so far and would like to see more, please let me know! Otherwise I'm likely to prioritise other works. Plus that added bonus of actually knowing someone likes it is always nice.


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